


Numb

by baileymermaid95



Series: The Conduct of Life [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Branding, Character Death, Coming of Age, Eventual Akuroku, Eventual Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Poor Roxas needs a hug, Prince!Axel, Sexual Slavery, Slave!Roxas, Slavery, Slow Burn, Tongue Piercings, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 15:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10573842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baileymermaid95/pseuds/baileymermaid95
Summary: My mother tried to keep me hidden. She tried to keep me safe. She knew what the consequence would be if anyone ever found out I existed: if they learned she had broken the law and birthed a child. She hoped there would be mercy, but we were only slaves. Slaves destined to carry out a miserable existence, it seemed.Like any mother, she had high hopes for me. She dreamed I would escape to better life. I suppose it's best that she can't see me now: the favored whore in a cruel king's harem. I've become numb just to survive.For what use are emotions when no one will ever love you?Eventual AkurokuPart 1 of 3





	1. Chapter 1

** Going on Living Part 1 **

****

** Ch.1 **

****

The oppressive summer heat seeped under the cracks of doors and oozed through the wooden slats of the cabin walls. Though the evening air now held a bit of crispness to it, the interior of the cabin may have very well been the inside of an inferno.

 

A group of five young women, barely teenagers, bustled about in a flurry of activity. They stepped lightly though, and tried not to let their stress cause them to hurry and potentially make a mistake. The absence of noise was almost eerie, but they could not let anyone hear them. Even the shrieking from the back bedroom was muffled.

 

No one must hear them lest it be death for all involved.

 

A still blossoming blonde woman lay on one of the two beds in the second bedroom in the process of something no “still blossoming” woman should have to go through.

 

She was giving birth.

 

The pain was intense. Her innards felt as though they were in the midst of a rousing game of tug-of-war. It was as though she were being ripped in half from the inside.

 

Within her head, she cried and cursed while simultaneously reassuring herself that it would all be worth it only to then damn the bastard who did this to her. She kept pushing only because one of her companions, she didn’t care to figure out which, held and hand and insisted she must.

 

She was sweating, but was cold. She couldn’t get comfortable. Why would she be comfortable though!? There was only a human forcing its way out of her body!

 

But she had already grown close to this child of hers. Had felt the baby kick. Had watched her stomach grow as the baby grew; delighted in the progress which then upset her as she worked dubiously to hide the bump from her “employers”. And she knew her baby would be beautiful. After all, the baby’s father had been beautiful.

 

For a moment, she allowed herself to escape from her painful reality and remember a happier time. She remembered meeting the baby’s father. He was so kind, and warm, and handsome. She never expected him to notice her.

 

She remembered the way his dark hair swept to one side when they met clandestinely in the tall grass under moonlight. The way his eyes glittered mischievously when they met in secret. The way his mouth formed perfectly against hers.

 

She truly loved him. He may very well be the only man she would ever love. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. If only he were here. If only he were by her side, then maybe she would make it through the night.

 

She needed him.

 

And her baby needed her.

 

Her baby. Her beautiful baby that was almost here. Almost in her arms.

 

She could do this. She had to do this. She couldn’t give up now when she was so close.

 

With one last burst of energy, she pushed.

 

* * *

 

A candle flickered on the bedside table; the six occupants of the modest cabin crowded around the bed to see the baby boy in his first moments of life. His mother nestled him tenderly, holding her boy firm to her chest. They were both exhausted.

 

Her boy did not cry, did not squeak. He simply observed the world around him, his blue eyes so very much like his father’s. The pair’s contented silence influenced the rest of the group who looked on with wonder.

 

This was dangerous, uncouth, yet they could do nothing but stare. The mother could be reprimanded in the morning. For now, the world was at peace.

 

“Have you thought of a name?” One voice ventured. Inquiring minds often want answers at the most inopportune times, but the mother was not perturbed in the least.

 

She had learned of her pregnancy before the boy’s father had to depart. His last words to her were a wish: a plea. If the child happened to be a son, he asked her if she would name the boy –

 

“Roxas.”

 

* * *

 

_Two years later…_

 

Though Luna’s blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun, a few strands kept coming loose and sticking to her sweaty forehead. She wiped the sweat and wispies away as best she could with the back of her hand before returning her concentration to the task in front of her.

 

She scrubbed the glistening stone with a renewed vigor. Her hands stung with blisters that were only agitated further by the soapy water. Her knees had long ago bruised purple. But she was content for the time being for these winter months offered her a reprieve from working outside under the searing summer sun.

 

She sat back on her feet to rest a moment. She preferred working in the castle to slaving away in the heat, but there was an advantage to the warmer months: she could be closer to her son.

 

The thought of the boy’s face made her smile. Lunafreya knew she was probably too young to raise a child all on her own, but she could find nothing to complain about. She loved her son dearly, and would not trade the small boy for anything.

 

Luna’s face darkened almost instantly. Her son.

 

She shook her head. There would be time for dark thoughts later. For now, there was work to be done.

 

* * *

 

 

Lunafreya worked the cabin door open as best she could without dropping the oversized basket in her arms. For a moment, ice and snow leaped through the doorway, whirling around the confined space, before the door thumped shut, and the small fire filled the tight yet cozy slave quarters with warmth.

 

Ashelia, a young woman barely out of adolescence, added another log to the fire to keep the quietly dying flame from dwindling to nothing. The other occupants of Cabin 22, save Vanille who methodically stirred some sort of stew in the pot over the fire, were seated around a quaint table. Serah leaned exhaustedly against her sister Lightning who wouldn’t normally have allowed such behavior even from her sister, but looked equally exhausted and was probably glad for the support.

 

Rinoa, the last actual denizen of the cabin, sat rather perturbedly as a small blonde bundle of energy twisted and tangled her hair in front of her face.

 

Said blonde bundle looked up, his petite face lighting up the room, warming Luna’s heart.

 

“Mommy!” he cried, reaching for the frostbitten blonde. Rinoa lifted the clambering child off her lap, tired of his youthful antics. Luna handed the basket of dirty laundry over to the pink haired sisters. She would be up most the night washing the clothing for the nobles of the king’s harem, so she would enjoy the moments of jubilation while she could.

 

She bounced the two year-old on her hip, delighting in the squeals of laughter the blonde emitted. “Shh baby, shhh,” she shushed her boy. “You need to be quiet now for mommy.”

 

He made a sheepish face, clasping both chubby hands over his mouth. “Shhh,” he repeated, then giggled.

 

Lightning made a disgusted noise. “Oh sure, he shuts up for you!” She rolled her eyes, looking around for some agreement in the room. “I’ve been watching the little brat since lunch and he hasn’t stopped yapping once, but as soon as _mommy_ comes home…”

 

“Of course!” Luna rubbed her nose against her sons which elicited stifled giggles from the boy. “Because he _wubs_ his mommy.”

 

Vanille announced the completion of the stew, and brought the steaming pot over to the table. Luna gathered her little ball of energy onto her lap while the rest of the group sat down in anticipation.

 

Though slaves to the king’s whims, the six ladies plus small child were able to construct a modest meal for themselves almost every evening. Vanille, the self-proclaimed cook, worked diligently to ensure that very thing.

The meal progressed in silence until Lunafreya inquired about something that had been weighing on her mind for a while. A large sigh directed the company’s attention to her.

 

“How will we hide Roxas once he starts getting bigger?” Thunks resounded through the three room cabin as spoons were released back into bowls. Unlike the easy, pleasant silence before, a thick tension now hung in the air. The boy’s size would become an issue quickly and they all knew it.

 

“Honestly,” Serah started, “I’m surprised we’ve held on this long without anyone noticing. Right now, Lightning has most the afternoon off and is able to watch him after I leave, but she’s being reassigned. We can’t leave him here alone all day. What if he runs off, or someone comes to inspect the cabin? I’m not sure there’s much we can do!”

 

“So you’re saying I should just hand him over to the overseer?” She hugged Roxas tight to her. “He’ll be killed.”

 

“You will be too, and every one of us for helping you,” Rinoa fixed Serah with a fierce look, putting a stop to any rebuttal the girl had been preparing. “I may not be the biggest fan of the little bugger, but we can’t just let him die. And I refuse to go down with him.”

 

 “The floorboards.” The group turned their eyes to Ashelia who, though normally quiet, was the one to offer the solution.

 

Vanille replied with skepticism, “Excuse me? And what about the floorboards?”

 

“They’re loose. If we converted a few of the floorboards into a trapdoor and dug out some space beneath it, we would be able to hide him no problem.”

 

“I don’t want my baby growing up underneath the floorboards!” Lunafreya rose in her anger. This was her child after all. She should get to decide what was best for him, and she did not think this was it.

 

“Luna,” Lightning wanted to reassure her, but she knew her words were still going to sound callous. “If we _don’t_ hide Roxas under the floorboards, he won’t grow up at all.”

 

Luna sank back in her chair, the wood creaking underneath the weight of her and her child. She didn’t like it one bit, but what could she do? She refused to give up.

 

She met her son’s eyes. The eyes that were so much like his father’s. _You will meet you father someday. I promise. I promise that I will do whatever it takes to make sure you see that day._

 

Her son was strong; she knew that. He wouldn’t complain about being confined. He wouldn’t complain about being left alone in the dark. He would do it because he loved his mommy.

 

She almost wished he _would_ complain, if only just once. It was her fault for being sold into slavery in the first place. It was her fault for falling in love with a man she could never be with. It was her fault for bringing her son into the world when the king’s law specifically forbids his slaves from doing so.

 

Roxas should not have to suffer the mistakes of his mother.

 

If asked later, Luna would deny the event, but in that moment, she was struck with a vision. She is not the religious sort, and will eventually convince herself it was just a dream she constructed, but someone (God, the Fates, Destiny, bad meat) sent her a vision.

 

She saw an adult Roxas: strong, resilient. His blonde hair long and falling in spikes. His eyes burning with the same determination she once saw in the eyes of his father. He sat on a throne: a leader of men. Though remorse boiled just beneath the surface, his countenance was one of… happiness.

 

Without questioning how, Luna knew his subjects loved him. She knew he had led them to great victories. She knew that he had made difficult sacrifices along the way. And she knew that he would continue to do great things for not only his own kingdom, but for all kingdoms.

 

Silent tears traced a path down Luna’s cheeks. Her son, her boy. He would go on to do such wonderful things. She could not let the overseers ruin that.

 

She dried her eyes on her sleeve. Roxas looked concerned, so she kissed his head in comfort, and said, “The floorboards.”


	2. Chapter 2

** Going on Living Part 1 **

****

** Ch.2 **

 

My first memories are of darkness. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen the sun, for if I have I cannot remember how its warmth felt against my cheeks. I only knew a sun existed from the stories my mother would tell late at night when her friends were sleeping. I did not experience much of the outside world for myself.

 

The majority of my time was spent in small hole in the ground dug beneath the floorboards. Ashe would help me get comfortable before she left in the morning: bringing me blankets if the ground was chilly or a glass of water if the heat was worrisome.

 

From the time I was three or so, I climbed down into this pocket beneath the floor every morning, and did not clamber out until Serah or Rinoa came home late in the afternoon.

 

It honestly wasn’t that bad. For my fourth birthday, Vanille sewed me a teddy bear to keep me company during the hours I spent alone. Plus, my gap in the earth wasn’t too cramped, and I got to spend the evenings in my mother’s arms. I was content with my existence.

 

Until one day changed my entire world.

 

“What do you mean an additional occupant?” Lightning demanded. She tore the parchment out of her sister’s hand in agitation. The announcement crinkled in her hands. She scanned it over with the same outraged expression.

 

Serah grasped at the paper. “It means we’re getting an additional occupant.”

 

“There’s nowhere to put another bed!” Vanille added. “We’re out of room.”

 

“Not to mention that will be one more person we have to try and feed,” Rinoa’s quiet brooding only fed the consternation in the cabin.

 

“Not to mention this is bullshit!” Lightning continued to express her indignation.

 

“ _Not to mention_!!” Ashe cried, interrupting the complaining. “I think you’re all forgetting about the real issue here.” She looked over at my mother who held me on her lap.

 

At eight years old, I was probably too old to still be sitting on my mommy’s lap, but she didn’t seem to mind, so I took advantage of being able to sit in my favorite place. I glanced up at her and noticed that she seemed worried.

 

My mommy worried a lot, about me mostly. I kept telling her she didn’t have to worry, I am a big boy! I can take care of myself. She would just shake her head and smile. I’m not sure what that means, but I like it when she smiles.

 

She wasn’t smiling now.

 

“Mommy,” I tried, “are you ok?”

 

Serah, Lightning, Vanille, Rinoa, and Ashelia sat silently but expectantly. Only Ashe and Vanille looked as worried as mommy. I didn’t know why an “additional occupant” would scare them. I was sure we could be great friends with her too.

 

My mommy seemed to snap out of a trance. She looked down at me, her eyes softening, “I’m fine sweetie, just worried about my little boy is all.” I pushed at her hands before she could start messing up my hair.

 

“Stop worrying mommy! I can make new friends… and I’m not little.”

 

She giggled a bit, a sound I didn’t hear often enough. It somehow reminded me of the fairies my mommy would tell me stories about sometimes. She said their laughter sounded like twinkling bells, and although I’d never heard twinkling bells before, I assumed they would sound a lot like my mommy’s laugh.

 

“Roxas, no matter how big you are, you will always be my little boy.”

 

She met Ashe’s eyes. Something must have happened between them because mommy nodded and made me get off her lap. Mommy never made me get off her lap unless it was bed time.

 

“Sweet pea, how about you go play with Teddy for a little bit in mommy’s room,” she smiled which confused me because her eyes still looked sad. But if playing with Teddy in the other room would make mommy happy, then I would do it.

 

“Ok mommy!”

 

* * *

 

Vanille watched as Luna allowed her head fall into the cradle of her arms. She looked more distressed than the redhead had ever seen. Lunafreya’s normally jovial demeanor was replaced by fear and confusion. Vanille observed similar expressions on her the faces of her other cabin mates.

 

What were they going to do? Not even mentioning the semantics issue of trying to fit a seventh bed into one of the two bedrooms, this transfer could spell disaster for the boy.

 

At nineteen, Vanille was one of the younger residents of Cabin 22. Originally hailing from Luxerion, she was captured by slavers at the age of nine. Strange as it may sound, it was better than living on the streets of the metropolis like she had been before getting picked up.

 

Midgar was a relatively nice place, though King Amarant was not exactly her favorite person. His laws, especially those involving his slaves, were stricter than Vanille was used to. Street kids don’t follow rules particularly well.

 

She found friends among the ladies in her cabin, though. They taught her well these four years, and she considered them closer family than her own blood; considered the small child family as well. She didn’t want to see him die for such a silly reason as simply being born. He couldn’t help who birthed him, and under what circumstances.

 

“What do we do?” Luna sniffled. Vanille knew how much this tore her heart: it must be terrible as Luna never cried so freely.

 

Vanille glanced around at the somber faces. No one had answers, not even Rinoa who was often quick to remedy their problems. Then again, what solution was there? They would receive a new occupant whether they wanted one or not. They did not have the power to refuse the order.

 

“Well,” Ashelia offered, “we certainly should put her in the other bedroom”

 

“Yeah, but how much will that actually help?” Lightning snapped. “Someone is going to find out eventually, there’s no stopping it. It’s inevitable.”

 

“He’s only a child,” Luna shot back. “He doesn’t deserve to die.”

 

Vanille could sense the rising tension. She and Serah were most often the peacemakers. One of them would need to intervene before tempers climbed even higher. Luckily, Serah chose that moment to step forward.

 

“We’re not saying we’ll let him die,” she directed a fairly pointed glare toward her sister. “We just wonder what you plan to do if someone does find out.”

 

Luna looked lost and alarmed. She’d been far too idealistic, they all had. They wanted to keep the boy close to them forever, and never let any harm come to him. They acted as though not discussing the subject of his discovery would mean it never happened. But he would soon be too big to hide under the floorboards, and after all, what kind of life was that anyway? Unable to experience the world?

 

Luna took a deep breath. “I just want to protect him as long as I can. At the very least, he deserves the chance to make happy memories before he meets his end. He’s my baby. I wish I could give him more than that.”

 

Vanille understood where Luna was coming from. She herself hardly knew her parents, but she still though fondly on her mother’s smile. Despite being orphaned to the cruel parentage of homelessness by age six, she still clung to the few happy memories her childhood held.

 

She thought of Roxas as the little brother she never had, and wanted to see him grow up to surpass all their expectations.

 

Vanille placed a hand on Lightning’s shoulder who looked ready to once more point out the folly in Luna’s thinking. The touch calmed the older woman, and brought the cabin’s attention to her.

 

“Luna,” she started, “we will do what we can for you and your son. We will hide him to the best of our ability, but please know that he will eventually be uncovered. Try to prepare yourself for that day as best you can.”

 

Luna’s teary-eyed smile was enough to assure Vanille she’d made the correct choice. She trusted her cabin mates to trust her decision and go along with this plan. They would all work hard to shield the boy from harm: for as long as they were able, that is.

 

* * *

 

It was a long time before mommy came back to get me. Vanille and Ashe, who shared our bedroom, hadn’t come to bed yet either. Teddy and I were starting to worry about them. But we trusted mommy to do what was best.

 

“Teddy, do you think I’ll be able to see the world someday?” Teddy didn’t answer, he never did. We lay back on the bed we shared with mommy. It was rough, but snuggly. I probably wouldn’t be able to share it with her once I started getting real tall.

 

Mommy told me that all the ladies who live in the cabin are females, and that I am a male. She said that most grown up males are even taller than Lightning is and she’s practically a giant! Mommy says it’s not how tall I am that makes me a male though.

 

Last year, mommy sat me down and told me how people make new babies. She said that when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much they hold hands and make kissy faces and stuff. Ew! Then she drew some scientifical looking diagramas that I didn’t understand. And that’s how she knows I’m a boy!

 

I’m not sure how kissing makes new babies. I kiss my mommy all the time. But I guess it doesn’t work because I’m not a daddy. Mommy said that only a mommy and a daddy who love each other could make a new person like that.

 

That’s the only time I ever asked mommy about my daddy. She says I have one, somewhere. I hope I get to meet him someday. Then he can teach me all about being a boy. And about how normal boys grow up, and about stuff mommy calls sports and having muscles.

 

Sometimes I think mommy just makes things up though.

 

The door creaked open and my mommy popped her head inside. She looked even more tired than she normally did. She should take a nap.

 

Her soft leather shoes tapped against the floorboards as she made her way over to me, the sound echoing slightly as she crossed my trapdoor. She flopped down next to me on the bed, curling her body around mine, and trapping me in her arms.

 

“You’re such a brave boy,” she began, nose pressed against my hair. “You’re such a brave and strong boy.”

 

She took her time, breathing in the scent of my hair and exhaling languidly before each sentence.

 

“I know you trust mommy. And I know you know that mommy is only trying to do what’s best for you. I can’t let them take you away from me. I can’t let you die.” She pulled away so that she could look me in the eye. “If they found out about you, then they would separate us, and you would never see mommy ever again.”

 

Never see mommy ever again? I didn’t want that. I wanted to stay with mommy forever. I wanted mommy and I to go find daddy someday and to all be a happy family again.

 

“If they took you away, you would never see Aunty Vanille, or Aunty Serah, or Aunty Lightning, or Aunty Rinoa, or Aunty Ashelia ever again either. They would probably take Teddy away from you too.

 

“Mommy doesn’t want that to happen to her baby boy.” Mommy started crying.

 

I can’t remember ever seeing my mommy cry before. I didn’t know what to do, so I pushed her hair out of her face, and wiped her tears with my sleeve.

 

“It’s okay mommy,” I consoled her, “I’m here. You don’t need to cry; Roxas has you.”

 

She chuckled and leaned into my embrace for a moment before sitting up.

 

“Roxas, mommy has to ask something of you. Until we know if we can trust this new girl or not, I need you to not leave this room. No more roaming around the cabin. When someone comes and gets you out of the hole in the floorboards, you can play in here with Teddy till mommy brings you dinner then I’ll stay with you all night.

 

“It that a deal? Can you do that for mommy?”

 

I was being restricted even further: trapped in one room. But I didn’t like the idea of being taken away. I couldn’t leave my mommy alone like that.

 

“I’ll do it mommy, for you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Going on Living Part 1

Ch.3

It’s been several days since the new occupant arrived. She showed up the morning after our conversation, announcing herself as Paine. I haven’t seen her, but from the way mommy talked about her, I knew we wouldn’t be best friends like I hoped. I was almost glad to hide from her.

According to mommy, Paine was really mean to Vanille. She made fun of the clothes Vanille sewed for us, and would insult her cooking. Vanille told me not to worry about it, but I couldn’t help it. No one gets to be mean to my Aunty Vanille.

Because of me, they decided to put Paine in Serah, Lightning, and Rinoa’s bedroom. Paine stole Rinoa’s bed though forcing her to come sleep with us. Ashelia and Vanille pushed their beds together and all three of them were able to sleep there easily while I cuddled with mommy and Teddy.

Rinoa wasn’t too upset because apparently Paine snores. 

I’m pretty sure she is just trying to reassure me though. They all seem to be more worried about me than normal. Which I guess is warranted because I’ve been feeling increasingly uneasy over the last few days.

I’ve had trouble sleeping while in my hole under the floorboards, which is unusual, and even the time I got to spend with my mommy felt forced. Unlike our typical moments of my mother holding me quietly, she has been making a noticeable effort to keep me entertained.

After having to work really hard all day long, I hated to see my mother having to work hard with me. I was supposed to be the reprieve, but much as I told her not to, she kept worrying about me.

I wasn’t worried. I had a good feeling in my tummy. I knew that somehow, Paine would warm up to us, and everything would turn out just right.

Clutching Teddy to my chest, I snuggled closer to Mommy. Just being in her arms, feeling the even rise and fall of her chest was enough for me. I knew our little cabin wasn’t much, but to me, it was home.

…

Paine wasn’t happy about her new move. In fact, she was positively livid.

Paine didn’t like Cabin 22. She went from being the only slave in the last household she worked in to being one of several hundred individuals enslaved to the king. Paine had specialized training as a personal attendant, she should not have to work in the fields under the hot sun like this. She was much better than this.

Now, her previous situation was not ideal, given that they beat her almost constantly for reasons she never quite understood, and Paine was willing to admit that the king was not inhumane to his slaves, but she loathed the other young women she was forced to share a cabin with. And that made all the difference in the world.

For one thing, they were all naïve little bitches. They knew nothing about the real world and how tough most slaves had it. They lived in their plush little cabin taking everything they had for granted. Especially that Lunafreya.

Paine may not like the other ladies she was forced to live with, but she outright hated Luna. Vanille liked to claim the blonde was sickly and needed to lie down whenever she wasn’t working. Sickly? Bullshit. Sickly slaves were useless and should be done away with. 

Whenever Paine asked the others about it, she received more varied responses of “She likes to keep to herself”; “I’m sure she’ll join us later”; and two incredibly cheery “She’s an adult, she does what she wants” and “It ain’t your business bitch, leave her alone” from the more melancholy members of the group. Likely stories.

Paine didn’t like it. Something was fishy about the residents of Cabin 22, and Paine was going to find out what it was.

The one time she tried to enter Luna’s bedroom, a very panicked Ashelia halted her advance before she even made it to the door. With a hurried mutter about Luna sleeping, she was ushered away. There was definitely something fishy going on.

The funny thing was, Paine almost swore she heard an unfamiliar voice coming from the room. Maybe goody two-shoes wasn’t so good.

Perhaps Luna was having a clandestine tryst. Paine imagined the rewards she would get for turning the rule breakers in.

On top of the door incident, as Paine had come to call it in her head, dinner time was becoming an increasingly mysterious affair. Every night, when Vanille called everyone to dinner, Luna emerged only for a moment to grab a spoon and a heaping bowl of whatever Vanille liked to call the crap she cooked, and retreated back to her room.

The strange part was that no one ever complained. Not even Lightning who frequently challenged her sister for the bowl with the most in it. Luna took almost twice as much as everyone else got and not a single one of them batted an eyelash.

Sick or not, getting more food was something Paine would not stand for. They all struggled enough as it was, why baby someone who can take care of herself or die already? 

Paine had a plan. She was going to oust Luna and whatever secret she was hiding.

On a Wednesday in late February, two months after moving into Cabin 22, Paine put her plan into action.

Since the ground was still more or less frozen, no one could work the fields, which found Paine washing dishes in the palace kitchen well into the afternoon. Her hands were raw, and her elbows were sore, but she found relief in the thought that she would soon be able to stop.

Glancing up, Paine found the clock read 4:27 pm. Perfect, she thought.

Paine immediately doubled over in fake injury. She had long ago perfected the art of making herself throw up (most often to escape chores she could not care less about doing in the moment) and now was finally able to put her skills to use. And use those skills she did.

Being a slave, Paine knew she would be sent to bed rather than the infirmary, but it was all part of the plan. In the last few weeks, Paine had memorized everyone’s schedule. She needed to find a time when no one would be in the cabin. It turned out that the perfect time was between 4:30 and 5:00 pm.

It wasn’t as big of a time window as Paine would have liked, but she knew it would be enough. She had to get inside that bedroom. She needed to know what Luna was hiding in there.

It occurred to Paine momentarily as she made her way back to the cabin that whatever Luna was hiding in that back bedroom could potentially be dangerous, but she swiftly dismissed the idea as mere foolishness. Paine hoped to find evidence of a lover, or perhaps something to prove Luna was merely being lazy and shirking duties.

To be honest, Paine wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but trusted she would know it when she saw it. The little bitch was hiding something, and Paine was going to figure out what it was.

Paine hid behind a neighboring cabin for several minutes until she was sure that Serah had left. Paine opened the door to the Cabin 22 soundlessly just to be sure though. No one in sight.

Good. Paine smirked to herself. 

She headed to the left side of the cabin where Luna’s bedroom hid behind the washroom. She readied herself, then threw open the door.

Nothing.

Paine kicked the door in frustration. Whatever it was, Luna either moved it or it was hidden, or perhaps she was too clever to leave behind evidence for someone to find. Damn it!

Paine refused to lose. Not again. She’d been tricked and hurt before and would not be the victim this time. And if Luna wanted to play like this, then Paine would fight her fire with fire.

Literally. 

She smiled.

Paine knew she could very well get in trouble for what she was about to do, but she didn’t care anymore. It’s not like she had anything to live for anyway. Besides, she was certain she would be able to get far enough away that no one would suspect her. After all, she was supposed to be working right now, and doubted anyone kept record of her leaving early.

Deciding that she was not only justified, but potentially blameless, Paine stalked over to the fireplace where a small fire smoldered, and raked the hot coals out onto the wooden floor. 

She scanned the room; a fire always needs fuel. Paine pulled all the linens off the beds throwing the thin, flammable material directly on top of the now leaping flames.

Nodding to herself as an affirmation of her good work, Paine then made a soundless escape.

… 

I heard Paine when she broke down the door to my mommy’s bedroom. I remembered mommy’s warning to stay in my cubby hole until someone let me out. I hugged Teddy tighter to me and held my breath.

Mommy, Vanille, Ashe, and Rinoa all told me stories about how mean Paine was. I really didn’t want her to find me. I didn’t exhale until she left the room.

I briefly wondered if someone was going to come get me soon then. After all, Paine didn’t normally come back until right after Aunty Ashelia came and got me out. I hoped this meant that I would get to see my mommy soon.

I liked when my mommy came home. It was always my favorite time of the day. When I got to see my mommy’s face after having to hide all day long, it made my heart feel all light and bright inside. I squeezed Teddy in excitement. I couldn’t wait to see my mommy again!

I noticed not too long later that it was getting hard to breathe. I couldn’t figure out why. I coughed a bit. Breathing into Teddy made it a little better.

I started getting a little tired. Maybe I should take a nap until mommy came back…

…

Luna’s task master had been complimenting her work when she saw the smoke. Luna dropped the dressing robe she was mending and took off at a sprint toward the grouping of cabins in the outer field. She hoped she was wrong about where the smoke seemed to be coming from.

Luna pushed past the crowd that had begun to gather around Cabin 22. The entire structure was consumed by flames. “Move! Out of my way!” Luna cried.

She burst through the mob and scrambled to the flaming door.

“Stop!” Someone called from behind her. Arms tried to grab at her, but Luna clawed her way out of their grasp. She had to get inside. Her baby was in there.

The flames lapped at every wall of the building, slowly eating away at its structural integrity.

“Roxas!” Luna shrieked, hoping her baby boy was still breathing somewhere in the cabin.

She picked her way over to her bedroom as quickly and as carefully as possible. She didn’t want to cause anything to come crashing down on top of her, but she needed to rescue her son.

“Roxas!” she tried one more time, kicking open her bedroom door and ripping up the floorboards. There lay her boy, luckily he was still breathing although he didn’t look good. She needed to get him out of there.

Luna ran: cradling the absolute most precious thing to her. Her boy’s soft locks flapped a bit as she leapt through the doorway of the cabin and into the crisp winter air. 

As Luna knelt in the frozen grass holding her boy close to her breast in the fading afternoon light, never once did it occur to her that they were still in danger. Not once did she remember the laws she had broken or the penalty awaiting her and her son.

Not once did any of this cross her mind; not until a voice called out “What is the meaning of this?” that is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For updating late last week, here is the next chapter a day early.

** Going on Living Part 1 **

****

** Ch.4 **

****

The king’s castle had three different groups of employees each with their own head of staff or task master: the outdoor field slaves, the castle slaves, and the castle servants. The overseer of the outdoor slaves was a large, bulbous man with thick hair and beady eyes. He prided himself on his ability to keep his slaves in line: a task which he accomplished through any means necessary. He did not take well to having his rules broken, and liked feeling duped even less.

 

Needless to say, the sight of a beautiful slave in her mid-twenties cradling a small boy in her arms angered the overseer to an almost ridiculous degree; particularly when the backdrop to this scene was one of his cabins on fire.

 

Pete, the overseer, threw a slave out of path as he stalked over to the couple. “What is the meaning of this?” he bellowed. The young woman whipped her head around to gaze wide-eyed at his approach.

 

Each pounding step made a crunch in the frozen grass under his feet. The terror in the woman’s eyes coupled with the concerned innocence on the boy’s face momentarily filled Pete with an overwhelming sense of authority that was almost immediately replaced by rage.

 

How dare they look so scared of him? They did something wrong, and boy did they know it. That didn’t make him a bad guy. It just made him the guy who upheld the law they so willingly flouted at that very moment.

 

 He wasn’t the one who had done anything wrong. This wasn’t his fault.

 

With thoughts such as these running through his mind, Pete was about ready to bubble over with anger by the time he reached the pair. He grabbed a fistful of the woman’s hair and pulled directly upward.

 

The boy tumbled from her lap as she gave a sharp cry. The small bundle on the ground clutched tightly at a small stuffed animal in his arms.

 

Pete leaned closer to the, a-hum… attractive woman, and bit out, “I said, ‘What is the meaning of this?’” he pulled her closer eliciting another yelp of pain. “When I ask you a question, you answer it. Do we understand each other?”

 

As he knew would likely happen, she did not answer. This allowed Pete to justify his next actions to himself. He dropped the woman, and delivered a swift kick to her side.

 

“I asked you a question, woman!”

 

She pushed herself up, and once again pulled the boy close. Only then did she acknowledge Pete. “Our cabin somehow caught fire.”

 

For some reason, Pete did not take kindly to that answer.

 

“I can see that! I was asking about the fucking kid!”

 

Said child flinched visibly before hiding his face in his mother’s hair. The woman comforted him with soothing words. “This is my son.”

 

Neither of the blondes dared to look at Pete.

 

Pete was a bit of an egotistical, power-hungry man, and the sight of the two small figures cowering in front of him made him feel better than he had in a long time. Allowing a smile to slip onto his face, he turned to two of the guardsman who had gradually gathered around the scene and bit out, “Bring her to the king.”

 

Surprisingly, the woman gave little resistance; however, the child did not take well to being separated from his mother.

 

“No!” he shrieked running forward. Pete caught him in his massive, beefy arms. The boy kicked, clawed, struggled and grappled to get away, all the time calling out to his mother.

 

After taking a fist to the face, Pete was done. “Shut up!” he shouted. “Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!!”

 

“No! Mommy!” the boy continued to squirm.

 

Pete squeezed the blonde tightly, yelling once again. The stupid kid refused to listen. Fine. If he wanted Pete to be the bad guy, then Pete would be the bad guy.

 

Handing the child to another guardsman, Pete snatched his teddy bear away from him. “If you don’t shut the fuck up right now kid, I am going to throw your fucking teddy bear into the fire. Do you understand me?”

 

Tears mixed with snot on the kid’s face. He stopped struggling, but continued to cry. But Pete wasn’t satisfied, not just yet.

 

Feeling slightly sadistic, Pete danced the toy in front of the boy’s eyes and taunted, “If you want your teddy bear back, you’ll have to beg me for him.”

 

The boy sniffed, and licked his lips.

 

“Please.”

 

“Please, what?”

 

Although Pete had before been certain it was not possible, the boy started crying even harder than before.

 

“Please give me my Teddy.”

 

Pete considered the request. He really wasn’t a mean person, not deep down. But there was something about this child’s sobbing mess of a face that brought Pete some semblance of enjoyment. He liked how the kid looked when he was crying.

 

Steeling himself, but feeling the slightest bit elated, Pete tossed the bear into the fire. The boy let out an inhuman scream. It was the kind of scream only someone whose entire world had been abruptly turned upside down could let out.

 

“Oops, it slipped,” Pete scoffed. Turning to his men, he commanded, “Follow me,” before taking off toward the palace.

 

* * *

 

 

Luna always knew this day would come. She liked to delude herself with thoughts of her son living well into adulthood at her side. Of growing old as her sweet boy held her hand. Of never letting go. Never being separated.

 

But she knew deep down that the boy would be discovered someday, and no matter what age he was by that point, they would both be punished.

 

She had only hoped he would no longer be a small, fragile, dependent child when that day came. He would need to be strong to weather this storm, and Luna didn’t know if her boy was up to that task. He was so young.

 

Pete’s guards dragged her up to the castle. She once thought it a beautiful castle: all red brick, sandstone, and crimson marble. Not today. Today this castle spelled doom for Luna and her beautiful son.

 

Luna was lost in thought when she was thrown to the marble floor of the throne room.

 

The throne room.

 

That meant that the king…

 

Sure enough, when Luna lifted her head, there sat King Amarant and Queen Larxene looking frighteningly beautiful. Their sharp features and piercing eyes put Luna on edge. She had never met the pair before.

 

In her experience, the king was merciless toward those under his direct jurisdiction. Although his servants and slaves were given fair treatment and taken care of as human beings, that benevolence often did not extend to those who broke the laws of the king’s household.

 

“My king,” one of the guards started upon seeing the king’s confused, but perturbed expression. “Overseer Pete discovered that this young woman was secretly harboring a child.”

 

The king’s eyes narrowed. Luna knew she was in trouble; to be honest, she knew she was in trouble the moment she met her boy’s father.

 

King Amarant rose out of his throne and sauntered toward Luna, a seething miasma of rage bellowing in his wake. He stopped directly above her.

 

“Is this true, woman?”

 

Luna didn’t answer; she couldn’t answer. What answer could she give this man, this man who held her baby’s fate in his hands, that would yield a pleasing outcome? One does not simply argue with a king. Not unless one wishes to die, that is.

 

“While I may not be known for my benevolence, it is still in your best interest to answer me.”

 

Luna could practically feel his eyes boring into her fallen form. She knew that she would be unable to form any words to save her son. This simple truth tore at the very depths of her soul. Luna was broken.

 

Therefore, she did the only thing she still had the power to do: she let out a monolithic sob.

 

King Amarant turned: a smooth motion that gave him the appearance of floating. From this new position, Pete’s underlings could see the firm set of his jaw and the furrowing of his brow. From previous experience, they knew this to be telltale signs of a coming execution.

 

“I will take your silence to mean that you do not deny the allegations,” he bit out at her. He gazed on her form from his periphery, not deigning her worthy of turning his head toward. “Now,” he spat, “who is the father?”

 

Luna froze. She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t explain to this man the weight of her sin. Of her love. He probably would not believe her anyway, so she may as well feed him the lie he expected to hear.

 

“A servant from a visiting kingdom. He is long gone by now. He did not know I was with child.”

 

She knew the lie condemned her. She knew she had played into the king’s hands and admitted to the crime he accused her of. She knew her words condemned her precious son as well, and for that, she could never atone.

 

* * *

 

 

Larxene met Amarant back when he was still only a prince. She knew him to be a cruel man then despite his frequent gentility towards her, and that did not change any after she married him and he became a king. In fact, she craved the moments when he crushed those beneath him displaying his might and dominance.

 

She knew by the look on his face and the tension in his shoulders that he had already decided this woman’s fate and it only served to encourage the rumors of his mercilessness. She was waiting in anticipation for the declaration of the woman’s sentence when the doors to the throne room burst open.

 

Many sniveling and pathetic individuals had crossed the threshold to the throne room before, but never had Larxene seen something so pitiful in her life.

 

Pete entered the room carrying a small boy who Larxene could only assume was the son of the woman about to die. Slung under one arm, the boy looked… dead. Larxene was not stupid, she could tell he was still alive, awake even, and completely aware of what was going on. However, the small child looked as though he was already dead: a corpse.

 

Pete crossed into the room at a leisurely pace, depositing the child next to his mother, and moving to kneel in front of the king.

 

“Your excellency,” he began, but was silenced by a motion of her husband’s hand.

 

“Pete,” he bit out without turning to face the man, “I would like to thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. I have judged this woman’s crimes and determined that the only course of action will be to behead her as a reminder of what happens when my law is broken.”

 

“And what of the child?”

 

Larxene did not know what possessed her to speak up in that moment. If asked about it later, she would have claimed that she was overcome with a brief spell of insanity, but only she knew how far from the truth that was.

 

In actuality, Larxene felt something for the lifeless boy lying on her marble floor. She felt strangely protective of him. She wanted to comfort him, to make him feel safe and wanted. She wanted to… mother him.

 

This was so unlike anything Larxene had ever felt. She did not even truly mother her own child. In that singular moment, she experienced the closest thing to a motherly love that she had ever felt in her life.

 

And she hated it.

 

As soon as the words left her mouth, Larxene wanted to burn them. She wanted to violently butcher the words and her feelings along with them.

 

So when her husband asked for further clarification, Larxene knew she had to play the part of the cruel king’s crude wife. She had to do something in complete opposition to those stupid maternal instincts of hers.

 

“I mean, are you going to kill him? Or something worse?”

 

Amarant’s eyes glittered with delight. This was truly the woman he married.

 

With a steadily widening grin, Amarant inquired, “Oh, my dear? And just what did you have in mind?”

 

Right then, the boy lifted his head. Though the light behind his eyes seemed to be missing, Larxene could tell what a beautiful young child he was. She could see what a delectable man he would grow to be.

 

Larxene decided to be a little selfish.

 

“Well, since his mother was such a whore, don’t you think it fitting that he follow in her footsteps?” She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it.

 

The obnoxious blonde woman looked up in alarm. She moved as if to get up and protest, but Pete held her in place.

 

“And how would he do that exactly?”

 

She could tell that her husband already reveled in the idea.

 

“By making him the little bitch of your harem, of course.”

 

Luna let out a bloodcurdling shriek. The shriek of someone who can do nothing to stop what fate has unfairly thrown at her. The shriek of someone whose only choice is to give in.

 

The shriek of a mother about to lose her only child.


	5. Chapter 5

** Going on Living Part 1 **

****

** Ch. 5 **

****

As the sun began to disappear over the horizon, the light cast over the frozen earth seemed to set everything it touched aflame: a lingering reminder of the earlier blaze. The late afternoon wind howled. A storm was on its way.

 

No one spoke a word as a small crowd gathered in the castle yard. No one wanted to risk speaking up and sharing the fate that was about to befall one of their own. Feet shuffled. Women clutched their shawls to keep them from flying away.

 

Finally, it was time.

 

The king and queen stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the small castle yard. A makeshift podium had been erected only an hour earlier for the proceedings. The castle doors burst open with the force of a woman’s fury.

 

It took three men to wrestle the convicted woman to the platform. Pete followed behind, his lips turned up at the corners, carrying a limp child in one arm. Despite his lifeless appearance, it was clear to everyone Pete passed that the boy was sobbing.

 

“Citizens, let this be to you an example of your king’s might,” King Amarant spoke from the balcony. “To those under my employ, let this serve as a warning. No one breaks my law and escapes punishment.”

 

The drums began tolling their death song.

 

The herald mounted the stage and read, “Lunafreya Nox Fleuret, you have been tried and found guilty of siring and harboring a child against the decree of the king, our Lord Highness King Amarant. The sentence for this crime is death by beheading.”

 

The gray skies finally opened up and  released their burden. The light patter of raindrops accompanied the heaving beating of the drums.

 

“Quit it!” A sharp bark broke the heavy silence. Pete bellowed at the boy in his arms shaking his shoulders. The boy was dry heaving, vicious sobs still wracking his tiny frame.

 

Luna no longer had tears to shed. She’d resigned herself to her fate. After all, it was her mistake the king was punishing, not her son’s. All her tears had been for _his_ fate, but tears would not help him. She had to be strong now for her son. Maybe if she was strong, then her boy could be as well

 

She turned toward the crowd. The rain now plastering hair to her forehead, and with bound hands unable to move the strands, Luna could only view the individuals through a curtain. She heard her son’s cries, but was unable to acknowledge him. She needed to reassure him somehow.

 

A hooded executioner pushed her forward, forcing her knees to painfully _thwack_ against the wooden planks of the stage. Between saturated strands, Luna caught glimpses of the block on which she would be expected to lay her head. A brief image of dead eyes staring out from a severed head flashed through Luna’s mind, chilling her to the bone.

 

Behind her, High King Amarant’s voice bellowed, “Do you have any last words before you depart from this earth, whore?” The insult caused Luna to whip her head around to face the King. She wanted to use her last words to spite this garish, sadistic man. She longed to whip around and bite out a spiteful _Fuck you_ at the King, but she knew it wouldn’t help anything.

 

No. This would be her last chance to comfort her son. She needed him to know that she loved him. That she somehow still trusted everything would turn out alright in the end. That she had faith in the man he would someday become.

 

Thus, with her last earthly moments as a mother, she opened her mouth and said –

 

* * *

 

 

The ladies of Cabin 22 huddled together not because they were cold, not to stave off the rain, but because they needed each other. Vanille was unable to keep herself upright without the support of her surrogate family as her knees were shaking too forcefully.

 

Though in troth, not a one could claim they were possessed of enough strength to weather this trial alone. Not when they each felt personally responsible for these proceedings as though their hands would be the ones to sever their friend’s ties to the world.

 

Serah clung to her sister viciously, and although her sobs were silent, the violent convulsions of her body were unmistakable. Lightning for her part appeared resolute, though anyone who truly knew her would see that her façade was just that. She had to remain strong for her sister… for her _sisters_.

 

Ashelia spoke first, her small voice slicing through the patter of rain. “How could we have let this happen?”

 

“We couldn’t have stopped it even if we tried. It was going to happen eventually,” Rinoa placed her hand on her friend’s shoulder only to be shrugged off and met with a fierce glare.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ashelia barked. Lightning wrapped Serah in a tighter hug as if to protect her from the squabble.

 

“It means that much as we all love Luna and Roxas, they still broke the law. The King was going to find out someday.”

 

Ashelia stumbled backward as if Rinoa’s words were a physical punch to the stomach. “You say that as though you don’t even care about them.”

 

“Please, stop,” Vanille requested hesitantly, though her words went ignored.

 

“Of course I cared about them! If I didn’t, I probably would have turned them in myself,” Rinoa shrilled, getting closer to Ashelia and staring her down in challenge.

 

“Are you saying they deserve to be punished?”

 

“I’m saying that I wish-“

 

“ _Enough!!!!_ ” Serah emerged from her sister’s embrace to insert herself between the two. “Quit it. Both of you.” Rinoa retreated to Vanille’s side allowing Lightning to comfort Ashelia. Serah sighed in both remorse and exhaustion before addressing her friends.

 

“No one is denying that Luna’s choices are what led to what is happening here today. But that doesn’t mean it’s fair. She deserves to be happy just as much as anyone else in this world. And that little boy makes her happy.

 

“Besides, didn’t we promise to help protect that boy? If anyone failed him, it’s us. He has done nothing wrong in his life. We deserve to be up there far more than he does for failing our friend, and for not protecting the one thing that meant more to any of us than our own lives.

 

“The King is just upholding his law and doling out punishment as he sees fit. We’re the ones who foolishly assumed he would never have to.”

 

They knew she was right. Serah had a good point. Were Luna not a slave, no one would think twice about the existence of a son. She would have been able to marry the love of her life, and raise her son in a proper home rather than under the floorboards of a squalid cottage. She was not at fault here.

 

Strengthened by a silent agreement to support one another, the five grabbed hands: all the while wondering if they would ever see their young charge again.

 

* * *

 

 

What was happening?

 

This couldn’t be happening.

 

Mommy promised she would always protect me, always remain by my side. So why was she leaving me? Did she not love me anymore?

 

No. Stop that. Of course my mommy loved me. And I loved her. So then why was all this happening? Why did that man hit my mommy? And throw Teddy into the fire? Why was my mommy tied up in front of this crowd?

 

I never thought my first time outside would be filled with so much hurt.

 

I cried because it was the only thing I could do. I wasn’t like the heroes in the fantasy stories mommy would tell me. I didn’t have a sword or a horse. I didn’t know how to fight. And I wasn’t brave enough to defeat the bad guys and save my princess.

 

No matter how many times my mommy told me I was her little prince, when it came down to it, I didn’t feel very much like a prince. A true prince would be able to save his mother.

 

So I cried.

 

I cried because I was helpless and scared. I cried because my entire world was crumbling around me. I cried because although my mommy had never explained to me what death was, I understood that she was leaving me, and I would never see her again.

 

Slung under the sweaty arm of a mean man, I wondered briefly where my daddy was. I wondered if he was a prince who would ride in to save his princess like in the stories. I wondered if he was gone like mommy would soon be.

 

The world snapped back into focus when I heard my mommy call my name.

 

“Roxas,” she said, turning so that we could lock eyes one last time, “my baby. Never forget that your mommy loves you. I wish more than anything that I could save you from the fate you’re being thrown into. Stay strong for mommy. I know that someday, you will be a great man just like your daddy was. I love you baby. I love you, my little prince.”

 

And with that, my mommy was gone.

 

Her words, however, would stick in my mind till the end of my days.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's finals week. Thankfully my last one ever. Please forgive my delay in posting this chapter. Updates are supposed to be every Saturday night, but no one is perfect. I hope you are enjoying this dark tale so far. Please leave comments as I am interested to know your thoughts on my material.


	6. Chapter 6

** Going on Living Part 1 **

****

** Ch.6 **

****

_8 years ago…_

 

A young blonde woman scrubbed away at the laundry she’d been told to finish before she was allowed to head back to her cabin and go to bed. The barebones stump of a candle burned on the side table next to her.

 

Luna brushed back a hair that had come loose from her bun and now hung in her eyes. At seventeen years-old, Lunafreya was one of the youngest slaves in the king’s castle meaning she often got the worst, most labor intensive tasks that sometimes kept her up well into the night.

 

She didn’t much mind; she wouldn’t be the young, new slave forever after all. Pretty soon they would forget all about her in favor of tormenting some other poor soul. For now though, the work offered her some solace. She wasn’t used to serving such a large household, and spent large amounts of energy each day trying to learn the ropes. Luna didn’t quite feel at home in the palace. Her last master had three slaves in all, including her, and before that…

 

Before that Luna knew she had been free, but she could never recall any memories from that time.

 

Luna shook her head. No use being bothered by things she couldn’t even remember.

 

Luna smiled in a soft, lethargic triumph as she finished wringing out the last garment. After she brought the basket down to the harem where the servants would hang everything up to dry, she could go to bed.

 

Luna gathered the basket as best she could in her arms. It wasn’t necessarily heavy, but the basket was so large that Luna had a hard time getting her arms around it. Plus, with the volume of clothing in her arms, Luna could hardly see around the obstruction she carried.

 

Good thing no one was out and about at this time of night.

 

Also a good thing that Luna had this path memorized.

 

She talked herself through the directions as she walked: _out the door, take a right. Go fifteen paces and take another right. Take the first flight of stairs on the left. Turn right at the bottom of the stairs. After another thirty paces, take another ri-_

 

Luna tumbled backward, her arm catching on the stone wall and scraping on the way down. The basket flew into the air sending all her hard work flying about the corridor. Luna let out a sharp cry of pain as she hit the hard floor with a resounding _thump_. She cradled her bleeding arm and curled in on herself.

 

She knew given her station as a slave that whoever bumped into her had every right to claim it was her fault and punish her.

 

Completely expecting to be hit, Luna was surprised to hear a muttered curse, “Dammit! I am so sorry. Are you okay?”

 

Luna cautiously lifted her head to meet the most beautiful blue eyes she had ever seen. The young man the eyes belonged to did not seem to be much older than Luna herself. Though to Luna’s surprise, the orbs currently held a genuine amount of concern.

 

Before Luna could assure him she was fine, the young man spotted her bloody arm. “Holy hell! You’re bleeding! Let me take you to the physician.”

 

“No, no,” Luna tried to wave him off, “that’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”

 

He shook his head, black spikes flying wildly in each direction. “That’s unacceptable. You were injured due to my actions, so I must insist.”

 

Luna altered her tactic, confused as to why he was so intent on helping her. “I’m just a slave; I am not allowed to visit the physician.”

 

He seemed taken aback by this. His mild bewilderment led Luna to assume he was visiting with one of the neighboring kings that had been invited to the festival in honor of King Amarant’s new son.

 

He took a minute to mull over what he wanted to say before speaking. “If money is the issue, I am sure my master would be willing to support my endeavor to remedy my mistake by helping the beautiful young woman I injured.”

 

It’s not that Luna did not want to accompany the attractive young man offering his assistance, it was just that she feared the possible recourse of not delivering her washings to the harem in a timely manner.

 

She had one last try. “I am sorry, but I simply cannot allow a stranger to go out of his way like this for a mere slave like me.”

 

He grinned. “Is that so?” He held out his had to help Luna to her feet; a gesture she gladly accepted. “I am the prince of Lucis’s personal servant here visiting with my master. My name is Noctis.” He flipped his hair out of his eyes and smiled at her.

 

She shied away a bit, unused to such kindness. “Luna.”

 

“Well Luna, may I escort you to the physician?” He held out his elbow for her to take. Rather than responding, she took his arm and allowed him to guide her toward their destination.

 

Though Luna would never admit it, she definitely felt some sort of growing affection for this strange man.

 

* * *

 

 

“There you are. Good as new.” The physician let go of Luna’s now wrapped arm allowing her to examine his handiwork. Now, he turned to Noctis, “It is my understanding that the Lucisian prince is going to pay for this, correct?”

 

Noctis nodded, “Yes sir, I will inform him of your expectation to be paid for your services as soon as I see this young lady back to her quarters. He will likely send me back promptly with your payment.”

 

The old man seemed contented by the answer, and retired to his small bedroom in the back of the infirmary. Luna followed him with her eyes until he disappeared. She let her eyes drop to the now wrapped forearm in her lap.

 

“You didn’t have to do that, you know,” she felt almost ashamed at having accepted help from someone so far above her station. As the physician cleaned and bandaged her wound, she thought of all the possible reasons this man… _Noctis_ could have for helping her.

 

She finally decided that it was out of pity. She must look like such a wreck.

 

“I know,” he grinned. “It was my pleasure, my honor really. In fact, I must apologize for causing you the injury in the first place.”

 

She dismissed this immediately. “No, no, I am sure it was my fault in some way. It always is.”

 

Luna looked away, feeling underserving of his attentions. Tears began to prick the corners of her eyes when a hand turned her chin upward where she saw confusion scrunching together the man’s normally beautiful features.

 

“How can you possibly think like that?”

 

“Because it’s true.” Luna did not understand why he was confused. Surely as a servant he was used to others thinking him beneath their notice. Surely he knew a slave was so far beneath his station that he should not even bother speaking to her.

 

“Luna, I have not known you long, but I can already tell you that you give yourself no credit. Anyone could tell you were working far past the time you should have been, carrying more than a woman should have to carry. You could barely see around that load. There is no possible way that collision was your fault!

 

“Besides, I don’t regret running into you at all. If I hadn’t, then I never would have gotten to meet you. And trust me that would truly be a shame!”

 

Luna hid her face as she smiled to herself. She hoped, however foolishly, that this would not be the last time she saw the strange and beautiful servant.

 

* * *

 

 

“Psst, Luna,” a voice whispered.

 

Luna froze midway through the onion she was chopping. Understandably, no one else on kitchen duty ever wanted to chop the onions, so Luna often volunteered as she was much better at this task than many of the others.

 

Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her. That happens sometimes, especially when she did not get very much sleep as was the case the night before. Two new girls, pink haired sisters, moved into her cabin last night. They seemed nice though.

 

Luna continued with her work, hoping to finish early and be allowed a few minutes outside.

 

“Luna!”

 

She whipped her head around this time in search of the source. She was sure it was her name she heard being whispered. None of the other kitchen workers looked as though they’d heard anything. Was it possible she was going crazy?

 

“Luna, down here,” a voice _definitely_ whispered from underneath the counter where Luna was working. This certainly did not happen every day, so Luna was unsure on how she should proceed.

 

Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, Luna crouched down to see a few barrels sitting behind her workspace, and a black mop of hair sticking out. Noctis.

 

“Hey Luna!” he grinned in delight having caught her attention.

 

“What are you doing here?” she hissed back, angry that he might get her in trouble.

 

“Whoa, whoa, calm down. I just wanted to ask if you had any free time later?”

 

Luna was a bit taken aback by the question. Why did he want to know about her schedule? Perhaps he wanted her to somehow repay him for the cost of the infirmary. After all, why else would someone ask a slave when she was free?

 

Luna glanced around to make certain no one had noticed her conversing with a barrel. “Um… yes. I’ll be done this evening around 9 pm.”

 

Noctis’s face lit up. He practically beamed as he instructed her to meet him by the stables at that time before scampering away.

 

Luna chuckled to herself at his antics, but deep down was a bit worried about what the man had in mind for that evening.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, good! You made it,” Noctis called out to Luna as she approached the stables. “I’m not going to lie: I was starting to worry that you wouldn’t show up. I’m happy you did, though.”

 

Luna allowed him to lead her by the hand up to the small hay loft. She willed him to just get on with it already. She had a rotten feeling about why he asked her here. She hoped her feeling was wrong.

 

“Ta da!” he shouted once she ascended the wooden ladder. Assembled in the hay loft was what she assumed to be a picnic. Fruits, bread, cheese, even a bottle of wine all lit by candle and framed by a circle of pillows. Noctis looked quite pleased with the arrangement: constructed himself she suspected.

 

Luna, however, stepped back in confusion. “Noctis… what is all of this?”

 

In all the scenarios she imagined for tonight, not once did Luna ever expect Noctis to take her hands and stare into her eyes the way he did then. His eyes gleamed a deep sapphire in the candle light taking her breath away before she could even form thoughts of protest.

 

“Luna,” he started, looking just as nervous as she felt, “I know that this is a bit unorthodox, but when I met you the other night, I dunno… I felt something. Geez, I’m so bad at this.” He took a breath before trying again.

 

“I have never met a woman like you before. You’re so humble, and dedicated, and wow, beautiful. But you also looked really sad, so I wanted to do something nice for you to make you happier. All I want is to see you smile.”

 

And smile she did.

 

Over the following four months, more clandestine meetings came to pass. Noctis would usually arrange them, but Luna was not passive in all of it. In fact, she kissed him first in their third week of sneaking away to see one another.

 

Not once in her life had anyone made Luna feel special the way Noctis did. She wanted to spend the rest of eternity in his arms. She wished for nothing more than to run away with him and never look back.

 

Regrettably, fate had other plans.

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” Luna demanded of her love.

 

He averted his eyes, ashamed of the truth. “I found out this morning that my master and I are returning to Lucis tomorrow afternoon. I’m so sorry.”

 

Tears began to roll down Luna’s cheeks. She landed in the hay when her knees no longer allowed her to stand. She did not want to lose the one thing that ever meant something to her.

 

“Luna?” Noctis tried, sitting beside her in the hay and pulling her into his arms. “I am going to come back for you. As soon as my master resolves matters at home, I will return and rescue you from this place. I promise.”

 

Luna sniffled, burying her face into his chest. “How do I know you will actually return for me?”

 

Noctis put his hands on either side of her head and pulled her face up to meet his. “Why would I lie to you about something like this? Why would I leave the only woman I’ve ever loved behind? If I could take you with me tomorrow, I would. Please. I’m just asking that you wait for me. That’s all. Please wait for me.”

 

He kissed her on the forehead before hugging her tight as he was able. He did not want to leave her any more than she wanted him to. Before Luna, Noctis did what was expected of him and nothing more. He did nothing because he wanted to. He was not going to leave her.

 

Luna pulled out of the hug. “Noctis, I don’t want to wait.”

 

He looked hurt and confused for but a moment as Luna kissed her love, wrapping her legs around his waist. Luckily, Noctis understood.

 

No, he did not want to wait for her either.

 

* * *

 

 

Eight years later, Luna would stand on the edge of a wooden stage facing her death and would wonder, however briefly, why the man she loved never returned for her. She would never learn the answer for with the _thunk_ of an axe meeting resistance, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I graduated college today!!!!! That means you should be nice and leave reviews telling me what you think of this story so far.


	7. Chapter 7

** Going on Living Part 1 **

****

** Ch.7 **

 

I pried my eyes open, the heavy vestiges of sleep making it difficult. Disbelief flooded my being as it often did upon waking: I cannot fathom how long it has been since my life turned upside down.

 

In a few short months, it will have been seven years since I’ve seen my mother. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago: back when I was happy despite being confined to such a small living space. There is nothing I would not give to go back to that time. To feel the comfort of my mother’s arms once again. To feel loved.

 

I shook my head to dislodge the nostalgia. Such thoughts would not help me nor my situation. Not today. I sat up on my cot as the sun began to disappear below the horizon, casting sharp shadows against cinderblock walls as deep orange light poured through the bars of my lone, diminutive window.

 

I’d called this sad, cold room for the past seven years. The bare room hardly seemed fit for the cleaning supplies it used to house, let alone a human being; but slaves take what they are given without complaint. Or so I’m told.

 

I almost laughed to myself as I remembered my first night spent in such abysmal conditions. Not yet eight years old, the scrawny little thing I used to be was thrown in here like a sack of discarded waste. Even till now I cannot recall ever being so miserable in my life.

 

_Seven years ago…_

_Pete trudged through the halls still carrying the boy under his arm. He could not fathom how he got stuck taking the brat to his new master. Pete was not in charge of the castle slaves; this should not be his duty._

_The pipsqueak had yet to emit a single sound since the death of his mother. If Pete possessed anything resembling a heart, he might have felt sorry for the boy._

_Pete pounded on Lexaeus’s door, hoping the man was inside. Otherwise, Pete wasn’t sure what he would do with the runt. He supposed he would have to wait there until Lexaeus returned. Pete grumbled; that certainly was_ not _how he wished to spend his evening._

_Luckily for Pete, the man was there._

_“Pete,” he answered clearly annoyed, “what brings you here?”_

_“The King ordered me to bring you this little bastard,” he motioned to the almost lifeless form under his arm. “Said you would know what to do with ‘im.”_

_Lexaeus nodded his understanding, then motioned for Pete to follow him with the boy. “Unfortunately, the instructions did not arrive until late this afternoon, so I did not have time to prepare anything. Not that it matters much; the King made it quite clear that he expected less than acceptable accommodations for the young man.”_

_“So, you know what the King intends for the bugger then?” the more sadistic side of Pete inquired._

_“The message I received instructed me to place him in a room near to the harem. As supervisor for the castle slaves, Xigbar is technically in charge of the boy, but he reports to the noble ladies of the harem first and foremost. He is to assist their servants until he reaches manhood. At that time, the boy is to join the ladies of the harem in their services,” Lexaeus answered with nare an emotion._

_Pete laughed and jostled his burden, “You hear that, kid? Gonna be a whore just like mommy dear.”_

_“I do not think the noble ladies of the harem will take kindly to having a slave among their ranks,” Lexaeus mused._

_“Probably not, but who cares? It won’t be our problem,” Pete exclaimed with far too much exuberance for Lexaeus’s opinion._

_“This is what I was able to procure for him,” Lexaeus stopped in front of a nondescript wooden door at the start of the “harem’s hallway”. Once the door was unlocked, Pete could see that it was, in fact, a storage room. At present, the hovel housed cleaning supplies, fresh linens, sewing materials, and other things of that nature._

_A shelving unit stood on either wall leaving only about a three-foot gap in between them: a space that was primarily occupied by boxes. A small window was situated behind the shelves on the left wall. Considering the three deep steps leading into the submerged room, it was understandable that the high, barred opening let out onto ground level rather than at a standard window level. What could be seen through the bars offered a view of the knights’ training grounds._

_Despite a drain in the floor, the rain pouring in the gap in the wall caused a good two-inch puddle of water to form on the stone floor. All-in-all, it was not an ideal living situation for anyone._

_Lexaeus sighed, “I feared this would happen given the weather today. Well, no matter. I can get Xigbar to send some slaves along tomorrow to assist him in clearing out all of this stuff and putting a proper bed here. Perhaps that will make the space a bit more livable.”_

_“I say leave it like it is; the brat deserves it,” Pete flung the boy into the accumulated water on the floor without remorse, and turned to leave. The door slammed shut behind the two as they argued about how inhumane this room was, all the while forgetting that the poor soul having to live there was an innocent and incredibly young boy._

I was just skin and bone then, too. I squeezed my arm and decided that perhaps not much had changed. I was definitely taller, though not by any significant amount. I could now stare out my window without having to stand on an overturned bucket, but most would still consider me short for my age.

 

I smiled just a bit as I remembered my second morning in this hovel. During the day, two slaves helped me move everything as promised. Given, they made me do most of the work, but I suppose it was good preparation for my future days as a slave. Lexaeus procured a cot, a blanket, and a bucket for me to furnish my “room” with. I appreciated his kindness, but I doubted I would see any more of the man. After all, he was the head of the castle servants, and I was only a slave.

 

That first morning, I rose with the sun. I still hadn’t gotten to properly stare at it (something I soon learned was ill-advised), and wanted a good look at the thing I’d only ever heard stories about. Staring out across the field as the sun begins to rise is still perhaps my favorite sight in this entire world.

 

I only wished I was able to share the experience with my mother.

 

My mother. I shook my head, running my fingers through my hair. What would she think of me? Would she be proud that I’ve endured without her? Would she be angry that I would rather take a beating than give in to their shit?

 

I sighed, wishing once again that I could see her: that I could hug her and talk to her. It would have been nice to have her support for the last few years. My first months working here in the castle were particularly rough.

 

Since all the ladies in the King’s harem are of noble birth (second and third daughters of Dukes, Lords, Counts, Earls, etc.), it was expected for them to be well taken care of. This meant that each lady had a personal attendant who stayed with her at all times while a team of castle servants ran around doing everything the attendants told them needed to be done: fetching food, doing laundry, cleaning chamber pots, stoking fires, everything.

 

The problem though was that they were all _servants_. Meaning every single lady working in this hallway was here by choice, and paid for their work: i.e. of a higher station than me. Outranking me meant they could command me to do any task so long as it didn’t conflict with a task given to me by someone superior to them.

 

Anything the attendants and servants didn’t want to do was assigned to me.

 

Oh, the fun stories I could tell. Especially since I didn’t have a single skill when I arrived here. It’s kind of hard to learn how to do things when you constantly have to hide underneath the floorboards.

 

I sighed to myself. I didn’t need to worry about any of that at this particular moment. I had new concerns now.

 

I always knew this day would come, although I almost hoped I would die before then. It is mid-August. Today is my birthday.

 

According to the law set out by some King long ago, a boy becomes a man on his 15th birthday. Traditionally it would mean his first hunt, although more recently I hear the occasion tends to involve drinking unhealthy amounts of mead.

 

According to that same law, this is the day the current King is allowed to officially claim me as part of the harem.

 

I flopped back down on my cot as panic rose from the pit of my stomach up into the back of my throat, choking off my air. I wished beyond hope that I could do something, _anything_ to escape what I knew would surely happen. I could almost picture it.

 

Ugh, not that I _wanted_ to picture it. I dug my palms into my closed eyelids as I attempted to scrub the image out of my mind. Normal boys don’t have to worry about crap like this on the day they enter manhood. I doubt anyone else in the world does!

 

When I was twelve, I asked one of the attendants what the harem did. At first she didn’t answer me, not that anyone ever did, but after a moment she started to explain. She said that these women agreed to come live in the lap of luxury at the palace in exchange for pleasuring the King.

 

The one caveat though was that they had to undergo a process the attendant called castration (though she corrected herself by further explaining that term actually applied to males, and she wasn’t sure what is was called for women). She said the whole purpose of the harem was to make sure the King received whatever pleasure he wished, but did not produce any offspring from the interactions. Therefore, only children conceived with his wife were legitimate heirs.

 

Of course, she went into a bit more detail about how children were created than my mother did when I was young. Honestly, I learned things that day that I didn’t ever want to know about. But I guess it’s better that I do know.

 

I decided that it was all nice and good so long as the women agree to everything. “Of course they agree!” She replied, “If they didn’t, then it would be rape.”

 

That word burrowed its way into my mind that day and has remained lodged there ever since. _Rape._ After asking a few more awkward questions through the years, I’ve come to realize that “rape” is most likely what is going to happen to me tonight.

 

I don’t want to be in this harem. I don’t want to pleasure the King. I don’t care that other people think it’s such a great honor and often bully me for not being thankful for the opportunity. I don’t care.

 

All I wanted to do was climb into my bed, curl into a ball, and pretend like I’m not fifteen. Pretend this day never came. I’m not ready for this. I’m not a man, and I never will be.

 

After all, my mommy did always say that no matter how big I got, I would always be her little boy.

 

The door flew open, cracking against the wall. At the top of the stairs stood Lulu, the head attendant, looking more perturbed than usual. “Boy,” she snapped, “time to join the lineup.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!! We're getting into some serious shit now. 
> 
> This chapter is brought to you today from somewhere in Alabama. I am traveling to Orlando to go do the Disney College Program!! It starts on Monday, so the next time I post will be from Walt Disney World. Wish me luck!!!!
> 
> Reviews are always appreciated.
> 
> As Always,
> 
> Ali


	8. Chapter 8

** Going on Living Part 1 **

****

** Ch.8 **

 

I padded along behind the elaborately (and scantily) dressed women of the harem. I knew I looked out of place: a plain cream tunic, brown trousers, and no shoes trailing after these… goddesses.

 

They didn’t want me here any more than I wanted to be here. I made them look bad, embarrassed them, or so they told me almost every day: often with the threat of physical harm attached if I didn’t leave. If only I _could_ leave. I’d have tried to escape so many times before now if I had the chance.

 

I spared a glance over my shoulder at the guard who couldn’t seem to stop breathing down my neck. I knew from watching this procession in the past that having a guard was new. I guessed he was probably there for me: to make sure I didn’t pick the worst possible time for my first escape attempt.

 

Then again, that’s the reason why none of the castle slaves are allowed to wear shoes: it makes escaping quite difficult. Though the marble of this section of the castle did feel rather nice on my toes.

 

And that is a rather lovely tapestry hanging on the wall. It is ideally placed opposite the magnificent portraits. And the lighting choices made in this hallway really highlight the masterful works without overpowering their beauty.

 

Great, and now I’m using any little thing I can to distract myself from what’s about to happen. Not that the pieces aren’t beautiful, they are, but staring at them is not going to stop the inevitable. I need to mentally prepare myself for this.

 

I take in the sight of fourteen perfect women in front of me. While their personalities certainly were not made to match, they are all more attractive than any other woman I’d encountered. _I wonder how they felt being presented to the king for the first time. Were they as scared as I am now?_ I thought to myself.

 

I would doubtless never learn the answer, but the thought comforted me for a moment. That is, until we arrived at our destination.

 

Usually the King sends a servant down to the harem and asks for a specific woman by name, but every now and again, he likes to see them all together: set out before him like a buffet. He has the right to choose any woman he wants out of his harem, even more than one at a time if he so wishes.

 

However, since they are here by their own free will, the women were granted the power to refuse the King’s offer for the evening. They rarely ever do, but knowing they hold that trump card forces the King to treat them with respect and lavish them with gifts.

 

Somehow I don’t think his more sadistic side takes too kindly to that.

 

Unfortunately for me, I do not hold such power. Both Xigbar (head of castle slaves) and Lulu (head attendant) explained that were I to refuse the King, the act would be considered treason and I would likely hang.

 

Much as I wanted to escape this fate, I refused to do so through death. I had to live on and become the man my mother wanted me to be. I only hoped I wouldn’t disappoint her.

 

I stifled the scream that began building in my throat when I saw the doors to the King’s throne room. This room already held traumatic memories for me. My mother’s death flashed before my eyes.

 

I didn’t realize I had stopped moving until the guard prodded me from behind, urging me to join the gaggle gathered at the doors.

 

While I’d never been present for this part, I’d heard enough rumors to have a basic idea of what was to happen. The herald would announce each woman by name, they would get a chance to proceed in looking all sexy and whatnot, then would stand side by side to allow the King to compare them.

 

I clutched at the drawstring of my trousers: untying and retying the knot in an effort to work off my nerves. I could not say I was looking forward to this. Not at all. I gulped in a breath of air as the doors opened, and the procession began.

 

* * *

 

 

Rikku joined King Amarant’s harem when she was 17 years old. She didn’t necessarily join because she wanted to, but rather because it was the least terrible choice she was presented with. Her older sister Yuna was more “wife” material, and so was married off to the most eligible bachelor her parents could find.

 

Given, Yuna’s husband Tidus was quite the looker, but Rikku wasn’t one for all the responsibility that came with being the Lady of a house. Actually, the more Rikku thought about it, the more she realized she didn’t like responsibility of any kind, or work for that matter.

 

No, she would much rather laze about all day than be expected to be in charge of a household. How is someone supposed to enjoy life like that anyway?

 

That attitude really left Rikku with only three options: become a nun (ew, gross, no), live in her sister’s estate (kinda weird), or secure her family closer ties to the throne by joining the King’s harem.

 

Unappealing as all the options sounded, at least by joining the King’s harem she wouldn’t be expected to take a vow of chastity. After all, Rikku didn’t want to die a virgin.

 

Speaking of virgins though…

 

Rikku snuck a glance back at the scared little mouse at the end of their line. Poor thing hugged himself around the middle as if he might fall apart otherwise. He also looked to be shaking. Rikku almost felt bad for the poor boy. _Man_ , she corrected herself mentally.

 

Now, Rikku didn’t resent his existence the way some of the other girls did. They hated him, and the decisions that brought him into their ranks. But since no one dared lash out at the King for the choices he makes, they all took it out on the boy instead: saddling him with far too much work, tripping him, all sorts of petty jabs they could think of.

 

She had to give him credit though, never once did he complain about anything the scary little bitches and their cronies put him through. Yun Fang and her right-hand woman Lulu were the worst. Fang thought of herself as “the top dog”: probably because the King sent for her most often. She liked knowing she was the King’s favorite, and wanted to keep it that way.

 

For her part, Rikku just liked to watch all the drama unfold. And oh, what juicy drama they were about to get.

 

In accordance with the formalities of the processional (given that they were still women of noble birth), they lined up in descending age order, and would be given a full minute to enter the throne room in whatever grand, austere, or theatrical manner they desired. Many of the other _fine_ ladies were decked out in all sorts of finery: jangling and glittering like ostentatious birthday presents.

 

 _Perhaps to distract from the less than beautiful personalities underneath_ , Rikku thought to herself. Not that she cared how the others chose to primp and preen, strutting about like peacocks in search of a mate. If anything, their wanton antics always made for a great show.

 

Rikku decided upon a series of back handsprings as her entrance into the throne room, as it sounded like great fun, before sneaking a glance at the poor shivering mouse three places behind her.

 

For once, Rikku was glad to no longer bring up the end of the line. At 21, she felt a bit young to be the twelfth in line rather than the fifteenth, but this meant she would have the best possible view of the true entertainment for the evening.

 

It briefly crossed her mind to say something to the boy: perhaps ask his name after all these years. But what advice could she possibly offer to ease his anxious soul? She knew what would likely happen to him tonight. Honestly, she didn’t see any reason for the King to even hold this processional.

 

They all knew the poor mouse was about to enter manhood in the most traumatizing way possible.

 

* * *

 

 

I hate waiting.

 

Part of me wants to just hurry up and get through the night so I can be done with all of this already. I mean, there’s no way it can actually be worse than what I’ve imagined for the last seven years of my life.

 

I’d spent my entire adolescence dreading this moment, but knowing I could do nothing to stop the inevitable. Though somehow, knowing it would happen did not fully prepare me for the reality I faced. I was far more afraid than I expected: more afraid than I was willing to admit.

 

I irrationally longed for my mother to appear and rescue me: to carry me away from here to someplace where we could have a proper birthday celebration. Perhaps even my father could be there. And mother could bake me one of the small cakes she used to for each one of my birthdays. Hardly enough for three bites, but still the most delicious thing in my life.

 

A sharp whistle broke me free of my musings. One of the noble ladies of the harem was beckoning to me. _Calling me like a dog, more like_ , I thought. I harried a glance at the guard, wary of any sudden responses, before stepping to meet the one who called.

 

Though she seemed to be a bit older than I, we stood about the same height. I remembered seeing her around the primary harem lounge, but she had never really interacted with me. At least I couldn’t recall a time she’d bullied me like the others had. I was a bit ashamed, though, that I did not seem to know her name.

 

“You look frightened,” she observed. I did not feel the need to answer as she stated what I knew was obvious to everyone. “You should be.” _Oh, thank you. How reassuring_.

 

She bent a bit now, placing her forehead upon mine. Not since the death of my mother, and my removal from Cabin 22 had a woman been this close to me. It was simultaneously comforting and frightening.

 

“But listen to me. Don’t you ever let him see you cry. He will never win: never take away your fire unless you let him. Don’t let him. You’re stronger than that. I know you are.” She turned away and trotted into the throne room before I even knew what was happening.

 

I still didn’t know her name or why she cared about me, but her words seemed to strengthen a resolve I was sure I’d lost. She was right, though. I mean, didn’t I promise my dear mother in Heaven every day that I would not let this place break me? And what have I been doing? Letting it terrify me and wear me down.

 

She was right. I am stronger than that. I’m a man now. No matter what happens, I will not let _him_ win.

 

* * *

 

 

From her place among the gaggle of sneering bitches, Rikku knew she had made the right choice from the very moment the boy entered the throne room. The scared little mouse was left at the door; here in front of her stood a man.

 

He strode to the feet of the King with a confidence and determination she was sure would serve him well in his future. Fang muttered all manner of insults under her breath as the young man knelt before the King. It was humorous to Rikku that they were jealous of this boy, but the rekindled fire in his soul brought out a spark in his eyes that Rikku could not deny was attractive.

 

This boy could probably give her a run for her money.

 

The King’s face altered the instant the boy emerged. The apathetic, unamused demeanor he traditionally sported was replaced with a vicious, almost sadistic leer that sent shivers up Rikku’s spine. She most certainly did not envy this child.

 

Folded in front of the throne, the boy could not see how the King and his bride sized him up: they reminded Rikku of hyenas circling a kill in search of the most opportune spot to take their first bites.

 

King Amarant rose from his throne in a delicate display of his power. Queen Larxene handed him something that flashed under the last vestiges of sunlight still spilling across the stark marble and crimson rugs. No one dared move, nor utter a sound.

 

When a sharp _click_ followed by a curt cry of pain echoed through the hall, Rikku briefly pondered how prepared the King had been for this very event. The boy, who only moments ago had shown deference to the King by kneeling before him, now found himself handcuffed to a chain the King commanded and splayed on the floor beneath the King’s very own boot.

 

Though there was nothing she could do (and she kept reminding herself that she did not care), as she was ushered out, Rikku could not help but pray the young man would survive the evening. For it was sure to be harrowing. She hoped beyond hope that he would not lose his fire.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't get off work until 1 am tonight, so you luck readers get this chapter earlier than usual. Enjoy!

** Going on Living Part 1 **

****

** Ch. 9 **

****

King Amarant Coral Alexandros XIV of Alexandria never once in his entire upbringing experienced wanting something he could not have. The heir apparent was denied nothing, and therefore expected to obtain anything he wanted as soon as he decided he wanted it. If there was anything the young prince hated, it was waiting.

 

After ascending the throne, Amarant found that a King waits for nothing and no one. Rather, others wait on him. In fact, if he is made to wait, a King can do away with the person or thing that caused his waiting.

 

Needless to say, when King Amarant realized he would have to wait far too long to play with his newest toy, he almost threw a rather un-Kingly tantrum. He could bide his time, though. He had a kingdom to run, after all. And a beautiful wife and harem to distract him.

 

Sometimes, to be sadistic or out of genuine curiosity he never could quite tell, Amarant would ask the ladies of the harem about his little blonde flower. Oh, the loathing they exuded: quite tantalizing if he did say so himself.

 

From each pair of lips dripped heated reassurances about how she was better looking, more useful, kinder, smarter, more adept than, and he quotes, “that sniveling little bitch”. Naturally, their obvious hatred toward the boy told Amarant a much different story than their words ever could.

 

They were jealous.

 

And why is anyone in this world ever jealous? Because someone is somehow better than them or has something they do not. Thus, with every insult and jibe directed at the boy, the King’s excitement only grew. His little plaything was already stirring up trouble; how thrilling it would be when Amarant finally got his hands on him.

 

So, yes, the King planned. He had been looking forward to this day for so long that he refused to let it be a small affair. Rather, he wanted to show his new toy off to the world: a petty gesture really to say, “Look at this pretty thing that is all mine, and you can’t touch it.” Amarant might even add a sprinkle of jovial laughter at the end if he was feeling particularly mirthful.

 

When the evening he had waited oh so patiently for arrived, the red haired King did not want to wait anymore. He invited the harem to flaunt his new prize in front of them, but their presence only lengthened the time he was forced to wait. He _hated_ waiting.

 

In the waning light of the sun, despite his irritation, King Amarant could not have asked for a more glorious unveiling of the precious jewel he had waited so long for. The boy looked every bit as perfect as the King remembered.

 

He’d grown a bit: but (to the King’s delight) not so much that Amarant could not easily overpower him. His slender hips basically screamed to be dominated, while the pout of his lips begged for abuse. The only thing about this beauty that surprised the King was the fire in his sapphire gems: a fire that Amarant was all too ready and willing to snuff out.

 

When the boy took his place of expected submission at the base of the throne, it took all the self-control the King could muster to not take the boy right then and there. It was only his selfish desire not to share that kept him from doing so.

 

Yes, this boy was absolutely perfect.

 

* * *

 

 

I feel icky.

 

Like a bug, murdered and pinned to a board to be forever watched by those who find the mutilation beautiful, I feel grotesquely on display for the pleasure of others. Though, I guess that is a fairly accurate description of my current situation.

 

Not long after humiliating me in front of the harem I’d begrudgingly served for the past seven years, the King dragged me down the hallway to his bedroom. The last time I was manhandled in such a grisly fashion was the night my mother died. Somehow I guessed this evening would turn out to be even more traumatic than that one had been.

 

And yet, the common factor for both was the King; the King who ripped my mother from me and plunged me into a life of servitude. The King who decided my punishment for being born was to serve in his bedchamber. The King who celebrated the anniversary of my birth by tying my hands to the frame of his bed and stripping me naked for the amusement of him and his Queen.

 

I for one was not amused. Not amused one bit.

 

A large and calloused hand stroked my cheek, down my neck and the length of my chest to land at my most intimate of areas. I jerked away from the offensive appendage: forgetting of course that Queen Larxene waited on the other side to receive me.

 

She slid a hand behind my head, and used the grip to direct my head to the position she wanted it in: one that allowed her to orally attack my ear. I squirmed, desperate to escape the unwanted attention. My sequence of actions warranted a hearty chuckle from the King.

 

“Where are you trying to run off to, little lamb?” he grabbed my chin in a bruising grip, and forced me to face him. His piercing aqua eyes bore into me as he pulled me closer to him than I ever desired to be. “You think you can escape me? Do you honestly believe there is any place on this Earth you can run where I will not find you? You belong to me now, kitten. Get used to it.”

 

His hands wandered across my nether regions in a show of ownership. I hoped beyond hope that some god or another would rescue me from this torment, knowing the whole time assistance would never come.

 

I like to pretend the next part never happened: I desperately wished it hadn’t. Among all the touching and whatnot, I willed my mind to another place. Somewhere I wouldn’t have to witness the atrocities performed upon my body.

 

* * *

 

 

Larxene knew she was far more interested in sexual relations than was socially acceptable for a woman to be. Not that she ever cared, certainly not after becoming Queen. Why should she? Her bedroom life was not anyone’s concern but her own. Not even her partners were allowed much say on the subject.

 

However, despite her raging desires, she did not always care for the things her husband wanted to try in bed. He had a penchant for sadism: opting for leather and chains rather than a traditional rutting.

 

Larxene never understood where such fantasies came from, and vehemently refused to indulge them. If he wanted to truss someone up like a pig, he could do that with one of the little whores he kept.

 

Larxene would never verbally admit to disapproving of the harem if only because they served her a purpose as well. They provided her with a reprieve from her husband’s wild inclinations. Plus, if she found herself desperate, Larxene found no qualms in seeking the company of a woman. They couldn’t produce together anyway, so what was the harm?

 

Nevertheless, she wanted a toy of her own. She often wished she were allowed to seek bed partners of her own choosing. She wanted a man, many men even, to take her. To pleasure her. Someone other than her pain obsessed husband.

 

This is why, when the lithe blonde squirmed against his bonds in her very bed, Larxene could not help her growing excitement in anticipation of what was to come. Despite her aversion to her husband’s bondage devices, she discovered that she wanted to defile the pure, innocent blonde before her.

 

She wanted to be the one ripping him apart. She wanted to fill him to the brim; prove he could hold more than anyone thought possible. More than anything, she wanted to take her own pleasure from this young man.

 

Too long she had been denied the thrill of bedding a man she found herself attracted to. Larxene married the king for his power, not his sexual prowess. He knew that as well, which is why he never forced himself on her after she produced him an heir.

 

She wanted to leave her mark on this boy before her husband completely claimed him.

 

Larxene skittered to the trunk at the foot of the bed: possibly her most treasured possession as it contained every item that brought joy to her life. She retrieved from inside of it her toys.

 

She licked her lips. _Oh yes,_ she thought to herself, _this is going to be a very exciting evening._

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time in my short, decidedly miserable life, I wished I was dead. The thought occurred to me atop that opulent bedspread, being pounded into on both ends by the King as his bride. Her “toys” were more akin to torture devices: drawing blood in places never before explored.

 

Endless hours of motion, of contact with areas previously considered private, of kissing and manhandling left me spent. I barely had enough energy to continue breathing. I felt drained both emotionally and physically. I felt… empty.

 

I wasn’t necessarily mad. How could I be? I knew this was coming, and I never did anything to try and stop it. I could have tried escaping, but I didn’t. I just gave in and accepted my stupid fate. At least being dead would mean seeing my mother again. If only I had died with her and didn’t have to suffer this alone.

 

I wish I was dead. I wish I wasn’t just raped. I wish I lived in a home with my mother instead of my miserable excuse for a room. I wish I could be a normal boy with a normal life. I wish I were anywhere else besides the stupid bed of the stupid King. On my birthday of all days!!!

 

It took me a while to notice that in the midst of all my wishing, I began to cry. The only other time in my life I could remember crying was on the night my mother died. Only fitting I supposed: I might as well be dead now too. There is nothing left of me.

 

A supple hand lazily traced a path down my abdomen to nestle in the small tangle of hair at my nether region. Twisting curls around each finger, the well-manicured hand of the Queen teased me. I kept expecting pain as every touch of hers that evening seemed to end in such, but none came.

 

Instead, the deep voice of the King bellowed from somewhere out of my field of vision. “I had a thought, Larxene, on how to make our new toy even better.”

 

She hummed, sounding far too pleased in my opinion, “And what would that be, my king?”

 

If asked, I couldn’t tell you for certain whether they were actually whispering conspiratorially as I thought they were, or if I simply zoned out in my exhaustion induced haze, but the next thing I knew, Amarant’s face appeared before me, hovering too close for comfort.

 

“Hello, little lamb,” his breath puffed against my lips, and for a brief second I feared he would kiss me. “You are going to be a good pet, and go tell Xigbar to give you my special present. You understand?”

 

My emotionally drained, apathetic self almost agreed before my senses had a chance to catch up. This was King Amarant. He did not give slaves presents. He did not give _anyone_ presents. Much as I may have been bemoaning my own existence moments before, now faced with the prospect of more pain and possible death, I refused to roll over and give in.

 

In hindsight, picking a fight with the most powerful man on the planet while still chained to his bed was probably not the best idea. However, I had just been through the most traumatizing experience of my young life, and may not have been thinking clearly.

 

“What?” I protested, struggling against my bonds. “No. I don’t want any presents of yours.”

 

I heard the _thud_ before the pain registered. He punched me: a bruise already flaring up across my cheekbone.

 

“Don’t make me ruin that pretty face of yours again. You will do as I say, or you will face the consequences.”

 

I felt the hard of lump of desperation claw its way into the back of my throat. I wanted out. Out of the situation. Out of this castle. Out of my life. This man had just raped me for goodness sakes. Why would I listen to him?

 

I screamed. Perhaps not the most effective action, but ‘twas my body’s immediate reaction. “No. Get off me. Let me go.”

 

Looking back on this years later, I would recognize the irony in how hard I fought in that moment when I’d previously been still and let them rape me without so much as a whimper. I would also come to realize what I experienced as a panic attack. My mind could not wrap itself around the horrors it had just been put through, and was causing a very intense, visceral reaction from me.

 

I am not sure how much Amarant knew about mental health, but I doubt he would have excused my behavior even if I informed him of my belatedly diagnosed anxiety, and frequency of panic attacks.

 

Seeing as he neither understood nor cared why I began screaming and bucking at his words, the king reacted as he did best: by instilling terror in his victims.

 

In my panic, I did not think to attempt escape when King Amarant unchained me from the bed. Slung over his shoulder like an inanimate object he cared little about, the king flung me into a room I never knew existed. The door sat adjacent to the bathroom, but locked from the bedroom side.

 

Honestly, I should have known. I should have known this… _fucker_ would have a veritable torture chamber accessible from his sleeping quarters. I should have known resisting him would result in hanging from the ceiling by my wrists, naked and exposed, waiting for the next _thwack_ of the whip against my back hoping it would be the last.

 

I should have known not to fight. Should have known to just take it and not fight. Should have known it really might have been easier to just give up and die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Always,
> 
> Ali


	10. Chapter 10

** Going On Living Part 1 **

****

** Ch. 10 **

 

Xigbar was a man who liked his sleep: as most sane people do. He absolutely despised being awoken until absolutely necessary, and was known to inflict serious bodily harm on anyone who dared to rouse him before the expected time.

 

True to his nature, Xigbar opened the wooden door to his chamber with a murderous intent when incessant knocking woke him from his slumber.

 

“What!?” he demanded of the demure slave before him. Xigbar had half a mind to whip the girl without bothering to hear her explanation.

 

“I am so sorry for awaking you, sir,” the slave quaked with fear: as she rightfully should. Xigbar recognized this slave girl. She worked in the washing and mending department as a palace slave. Xigbar was her Overseer; he oversaw all the slaves within the palace walls.

 

This slave girl should know better than to defy her direct superior. She deliberately flaunted his rules, and had to pay for it. Xigbar grabbed her arm, intending to do deliver his version of justice upon her, when she cried out, “The Queen sent me!”

 

The Queen? What business did she have with Xigbar? Particularly at this ungodly hour. Could the matter not wait until the daylight hours?

 

Xigbar shoved the slave girl away roughly, determined to get the matter solved with as much speed as possible. “Be quick about it, girl. What business does the Queen have with me that could not be addressed at a more respectable time of day?”

 

Rather than replying, the slave girl handed a folded piece of paper to her Overseer, and scuttled off down the hallway. Xigbar scoffed at her cowardice.

 

The note read:

 

_Come to the King’s bedchamber immediately._

 

Naturally, she couldn’t just put the information in a letter. Larxene valued dramatics too much to miss an opportunity to be theatrical. Grumbling to himself, Xigbar dressed in the first articles of clothing he could find on the floor, and trekked the well-known path to where his King resided.

 

The heavy door sat slightly ajar, horrifying cries of pain and terror resonating from the interior. The Queen stood just inside, a pleased smile on her face. Xigbar cracked the door just enough to allow himself entry.

 

“You asked to see me?” he bit at the regal woman to his right. He’d served in this palace since childhood and was never one to show the proper respect to those with authority over him. Larxene never really seemed to mind.

 

“Do you hear those delicious screams?” she mused. She closed her eyes and folded her arms, taking in the sounds she found pleasurable. “I never quite got my husband’s fascination with such things until now. His screams are,” she hummed as she searched for a word, “simply divine.”

 

Xigbar seriously hoped he was not woken up to listen to some screaming. “My Queen?” he prompted once again.

 

“Overseer, could you waken the Royal Blacksmith?” she requested.

 

At this hour? What for? He wondered before realizing he’d said the words aloud. Luckily, the woman in charge saw fit to respond with a laugh.

 

“My husband is playing with his new toy right now,” that explained the screaming at the very least, but not why the King and Queen would need the forge at this time of night. They hardly used weapons anyway.

 

“He hoped,” she continued, “to make a few… improvements to his little lamb as soon as possible. He has requested the boy receive his brand. The King wants anyone who looks on the little bitch to know who he belongs to. And one more thing –“

 

Xigbar nodded, signaling for her to continue. He already liked where this was going.

 

“Have the smithy give the boy the traditional concubine treatment.”

 

The practice was well out of date: used under the old law when the king had no harem, but rather would take a single concubine to pleasure himself in his wife’s absence. Although it had not been in law for almost 60 years, Xigbar understood the tradition to which the Queen was referring. It was common knowledge, and still sometimes practiced by noble men of the kingdom in their own households.

 

Xigbar cared not whether the idea came from the sly woman leaning against the wall, or her sadistic husband; either way, Xigbar grinned at the suggestion.

 

He hated the little bastard dumped on him. The brat knew nothing, and had to be taught even the most basic of tasks in his early years. Nearly daily, Xigbar received complaints about the bugger that he was expected to deal with. In his opinion, the boy deserved everything he was getting for being such a nuisance in Xigbar’s life.

 

The thought lightening his step, Xigbar left the bedchamber to awaken the smithy, though the man valued his sleep about as much as Xigbar himself, and would doubtless be unamused by the evening’s proceedings.

 

* * *

 

 

I stumbled from the King’s chambers: bloody, bruised, and broken. My back was a mess of lashes, and my mind a mess of its own scars. He raped me again before allowing me to leave. My backside dripped a combination of blood and semen: something I am still exquisitely repulsed by.

 

My bare feet left a trail of bloody footprints on the stone. Everything hurt, and I felt more tired than I thought possible. I wanted to collapse on my meager pile of hay and never wake up. With as much blood as I’d lost, that might actually end up happening.

 

“Oi, you,” a voice stopped me in my bloody tracks. I knew that pretentious timber: it belonged to my direct supervisor, Overseer of the House Slaves, Xigbar.

 

I leaned against the wall, not bothering to turn and face him. I even closed my eyes for a brief second with the silent wish he would leave me be, and allow me to go get some much needed rest. But as with the rest of my life, luck was not on my side.

 

“Come along,” he muttered in that gruff tone of his. As if the verbal prod were not enough, he grabbed my arm and pulled me along the corridor.

 

Given it was close to the witching hour, I pondered the possible reason Xigbar had for being awake, and for requiring my immediate presence somewhere. If I was lucky, he was taking me to the infirmary; but as I’ve said, I am anything but lucky.

 

I smelled the forge before I saw it: a red orange glow lighting the room and surrounding corridors from the gross volume of wood burning for use by the royal blacksmith. I’d never had reason to explore this part of the castle, but I’d been responsible for tending to the fireplaces in the harem chambers, and knew the scent well. Their small hearths did not prepare me for the sight I encountered, though.

 

The forge sat against the north wall. Its opening was large enough for a grown man to step into, though I doubted any man was stupid enough to attempt the feat with flames licking at the entrance. The heat hit me like a wall when I stepped into the smithy: a heat unlike anything I’d experienced. You know, having lived my life confined to the castle and all.

 

Despite being injured, anxious, and exhausted, my mind was quick as ever to question why the forge was lit at this time of night. Who in their right mind would be awake and working now? The royal blacksmith would never do something like this of his own volition; I’d heard he passed out after a few pints of ale each evening, after all. The only reason he would be up and working like this was if the King ordered him to –

 

I wrenched my arm out of Xigbar’s grasp as the pieces fell into place. _Tell Xigbar to give you my special present_.

 

Shit.

 

The fight or flight instinct is fairly well ingrained into the human psyche; even though I logically knew running would not help me since I was literally dripping with my own blood, I still took off like a spooked rabbit back down the hallway. Naturally, Xigbar caught up which then found me chained to the ceiling (again) staring down the red hot branding iron in the blacksmith’s hands.

 

My mind went blank, unable to process the amount of overwhelming pain that tore through my senses. One more second of blinding, mind-numbing pain, and unconsciousness overtook me.

 

* * *

 

 

Hayner came from Spira before it fell during the war. He could remember the craggy rocks, the plains, the wild chocobos, the sun: all the small enjoyments his life held until he was captured as a prisoner of war and taken to this… hell.

 

 _It could be worse, though_ , Hayner chastised himself. He knew it could always be worse than the lot he was saddled with. Being personal slave to the physician’s assistant allowed him certain privileges that the other slaves did not enjoy. Wearing shoes, for one. He also had the run of the castle so long as he could convincingly claim to be on some errand or another.

 

Honestly, he served as little more than a messenger and delivery boy for the physician and his assistant, Seifer. Hayner didn’t mind, though. Again, it could easily be far worse for him.

 

The morning began in typical fashion: he roused himself shortly before dawn to fetch fresh water for the infirmary. Next, he would be tasked with collecting meals for the two men he served. Vexen almost always requested oatmeal, while Seifer most often demanded whatever meats were available from the kitchens.

 

However, that is where Hayner’s morning changed. Instead of delivering remedies, or fetching herbs, Seifer handed his slave a basket of bandages and ointments.

 

Hayner purveyed the contents, before daring to inquire, “What is all this?”

 

“That,” his Master began, “my dearest little slave, is for you to play physician.” Seifer ruffled his hair, leaving the boy even more confused.

 

He had no skill with the healing arts, nor had he received any training on the matter. He only knew the items by visual identification because he was often sent to restock their supplies from the market vendors.

 

Given, Hayner had watched physician and assistant healing individuals for upwards of four summers now, but that did not mean he had any inkling of what exactly the task entailed.

 

Hayner scrunched his eyebrows together, looking between Vexen and Seifer, hoping one of the men would provide an explanation. It was Vexen who broke down in the end.

 

“The King has requested we tend to one of his slaves,” the older man crossed out of the room to look after his patients.

 

Hayner met his Master’s gaze. “But we don’t treat slaves,” he reminded tentatively as to avoid a beating.

 

“Exactly,” Seifer sneered. “That’s why you’re doing it.”

 

Hayner supposed that made sense. Why waste the talents of capable healers on a slave when they could send another untrained slave to see to the duty? Hayner hoped he would be able to help, at the very least.

 

After procuring directions from Seifer (begrudgingly given only after groping his slave), Hayner set off down the hallway to complete the task assigned him. He only hoped he completed the task swiftly. He didn’t want to hang around some sick or injured stinking slave any longer than he had to.

 

Oddly enough, the instructions given to Hayner led him to the harem’s corridor. As far as Hayner knew, only servants tended the harem, and not slaves. Servants were paid for their work, and so were able to afford to see the physician if the need so arose.

 

Hayner wondered if this was all some sick joke played on him by Seifer. The older man enjoyed seeing his discomfort at a lack of sexual experience. He supposed that was the reason Seifer enjoyed grabbing his ass: to see him jump and blush at actions he is not accustomed to.

 

Either way, Hayner could not return without attempting to find the slave. If he at least looked around, he could return to his quarters in good conscience knowing he did everything within his power to complete the task given to him.

 

Trying not to scare the noble women of the harem, Hayner sneaked open the first door he came upon. It looked to be a storage room of some kind. Inside though, he found no supplies, but rather a boy close to his own age.

 

The sight of the boy sent Hayner’s gut reeling: this was certainly the slave he was sent to tend. The boy was a mess of blood and wounds. One glance told Hayner this would be beyond his capabilities, but he had to try nonetheless.

 

“Oh, gods,” Hayner muttered, “be with us.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but life happened. Here you go, lovelies.

** Going on Living Part 1 **

****

** Ch. 11 **

****

Before I mustered enough strength to peel my leaden eyelids open, I felt the pain. My body burned with the heat of a few thousand needles stabbing into me. Everything hurt: more than I had ever experienced in my life. Even worse than the night before. _What even happened last night?_

My backside ached. The dismal cot that served as my bed did little to cushion my emaciated body. I could feel bruises blooming their shades of black and blue along my hipbones.

 

Congealed blood caused pieces of stray straw that often blew through the window to stick to the still gaping wounds on my back. I reached a hand around to feel if any of the gashes were still oozing. The motion caused a spark of pain to shoot up my right side. My eyelids flew open to spot the source: on the inside of my right hip, situated far too close to my intimate areas to be a coincidence, the King’s royal brand sat raised in an angry red.

 

Branded like an animal. Like one of the king’s cattle. A solitary tear tracked its way down my less than cleanly features. I hardly even had enough strength left in me to bemoan my begotten state. _I’m no better than a beast to him._

 

The sudden taste of blood in my mouth surprised me. When did I receive an injury there? I remembered being punched in the face by Amarant, but the throbbing of my swollen left eye confirmed he struck me across the cheek and temple rather than the jaw.

 

A quick exploration revealed the truth.

 

They pierced my tongue.

 

Without my permission, without even _mentioning_ it to me, they pierced my fucking tongue. I wasn’t a dumb kid, I could logic through why the King and his wifey-poo might desire the small metal ball now lodged in my tongue to exist, but for some reason, I kept getting stuck on the “who the fuck does this to someone?” part.

 

I know he’s the king and all, but mutilating my body while I’m unconscious? That speaks of a nature far more despicable than simply that of a rapist. Amarant was a sadist, and a selfish one at that.

 

I groaned. Of course this would be my life. I couldn’t serve just any king, no, I had to be the bed slave to the most sadistic, twisted, disgusting, pedophile this world has to offer.

 

I carefully propped myself up on one elbow. My stomach grumbled its discontent and desire for nourishment. Like freaking always. When am I not hungry?

 

Completely unbidden, the entire night came flooding back to me: the procession, the rape, the torture. The memories caused the remaining wounds to flare in pain as physical reminders of the hardships I’ve endured. The mental wounds were a bit harder to see.

 

I didn’t want to think about those. I wanted to just forget about everything and move on. Not that the king would let me, but I had to try.

 

At the same moment I chose to try sitting up and getting prepared for the day, the door squeaked open. I found myself looking into an unfamiliar pair of brown eyes. Blonde hair, a few shades darker than my own, stuck up in the back.

 

He was dressed as a slave, yet he wore shoes. Who was this man? And why was he here?

 

The strange male in the doorway mumbled to himself before thudding down the stairs, and kneeling by my bed. He roughly slammed his basket to the floor which I could now see was full of healing items.

 

Was he here to take care of my wounds?

 

I jumped in surprise when he thrust his hand in my face. It almost looked like he was offering me a handshake like I’d seen noble men exchange. Did this mean he was a noble man? If so, I could not touch him so freely, let alone let him treat me.

 

I slid off my bed in an attempt to kneel before him, but my freely bleeding wounds would not allow to do so gracefully resulting in a tumble and crash rather than a kneel of servitude. The other man did not take kindly to this for some reason, and started spewing profanities in my direction.

 

He helped me back onto the bed, both of our heads hanging in exhaustion. He sucked in a deep breath, “Hayner.”

 

I looked up at him, a question in my gaze.

 

“That’s my name,” he continued. “Call me Hayner. And I’m a slave too, so please don’t leap off your cot for me. You’ll just hurt yourself.”

 

I hid behind my bangs again, this time in shame. Of course he wasn’t a noble man, why would a noble man come here? Clearly my brain was a bit addled. I hoped he would go away and leave me in peace, but when I raised my head, he sat there still. And he was staring at me. I wanted to be ignored, not scrutinized.

 

“What happened to you?” he asked.

 

I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t exactly feel like talking in general, but I particularly did not care to relive the horrors of the night before. If a talkative companion was what he sought, he would need to look elsewhere. I was not in the mood.

 

As if he sensed my reluctance to answer, he spoke once more. “The physician sent me. He said to treat you.” He grabbed each item out of his basket and laid them on the floor as he talked, “Given, I don’t know much about what I’m supposed to do, but I’m gonna give it a whirl. Just, uh, let me know what hurts. Yeah?”

 

He glanced up expectantly. I nodded my acquiescence. We stared at each other for another long moment. I’d never been treated by someone before, but I was certain it involved moving, not just staring. I almost opened my mouth to ask him to get on with it when he bit out a question.

 

“What’s your name?”

 

Warmth spread within my chest. I could not remember the last time someone asked my name. That’s right, though, isn’t it? I’m not just an animal; I’m a human! I’m a person with a name, and a soul.

 

I stifled the smile that tickled the corners of my mouth as well as the tears that welled up of their own accord. “Roxas,” I whispered.

 

He stuck out his hand once more, “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Roxas.” This time, I shook the hand offered me.

 

While I couldn’t quite be sure, I believe I’d just made a friend.

 

* * *

 

 

Hayner never realized how hard it was treating injuries. He understood that he needed to clean the wounds so they didn’t get infected, then wrap them, but he didn’t previously think about how much blood would be involved.

 

He shoved down the rising bile in his throat. This poor kid needed his wounds treated. It looked as though he’d been whipped. What for, Hayner couldn’t be sure. If his naked torso was any indication, Hayner guessed his master did not look after him well.

 

In addition to the lash marks, the boy was so skinny that Hayner could count his ribs He looked frail and sad.

 

Hayner cleaned and wrapped the boy’s back to the best of his ability, occasionally drawing a hiss of pain from Roxas. He could tell there was more that needed attention, but he didn’t want to make assumptions. The burns on his hip were so noticeably painful that Hayner could not ignore it.

 

He would need to go retrieve a salve from the infirmary.

 

“So,” Hayner hoped the boy would answer this time, “I need to go get something for that burn of yours. Is there any other spot still causing you pain? Or can I get you anything else while I’m out?”

 

The boy looked up at him: his eyes wide and innocent, but trusting. He looked like a spooked deer. Hayner felt pity for the poor boy. He wanted to help the sad creature however he could. Despite not knowing much about him, Hayner could tell the boy did nothing to warrant this treatment.

 

Roxas bit his lip. He hesitated a minute longer before providing a reply, “Could I get some food? Maybe a tunic. And… do you have anything for… cuts?”

 

Hayner cocked his head in surprise. He thought he had treated all the cuts. “Cuts of what kind? Where?”

 

There was no need for words; Hayner could read the answer in the boy’s face. He’d been raped. He’d been torn open: cut on the inside.

 

Any pity Hayner had for the young male multiplied a hundred fold. This pitiable creature. Hayner made the decision in that moment to help Roxas whenever he could in any way he could. This was not fair. This could easily have been Hayner’s lot in life. How was it fair that he lived in relative comfort, free from fear, while Roxas suffered like this?

 

Hayner laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and set the ointment he brought with him in the boy’s lap. “This is for cuts. Use it as you need to while I am gone. I will be back shortly.”

 

He offered one last smile before departing.

 

* * *

 

 

I have been through strange and awkward experiences in my life. I lived under the floorboards for years, after all. Nothing compared to the strange nature of spreading ointment inside my asshole. It hurt, though, and if I could relieve the pain in any way, I was going to do what I needed to.

 

This Hayner fellow seemed friendly. The first person to be friendly to me since my mother died. I logically know that normal people have friends, but that had yet to be the case for me. Hard to have friends when you’re a slave for people who despise or simply want to use you.

 

My back felt a bit better. Not 100%, but at least I had some mobility back; enough to reach around to the area that needed immediate attention. The emotion that flashed across Hayner’s eyes before he left spoke volumes: telling me he knew what happened and why I was still in pain. It meant I didn’t have to say it aloud, but it also meant that he knew how disgusting I was.

 

I shook my head. I didn’t have time for such thoughts.

 

Luckily, my pants were back in their proper place by the time Hayner returned. To my shock, he brought all the items I requested. Usually I was the one fetching things for others. It felt nice to be the one having stuff brought to.

 

I allowed him to apply the salve before slipping on the tunic. I felt… loved. It made me miss my mother. Tears escaped my eyes without my willing them.

 

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized.

 

“What for?” Hayner looked up from recollecting his items in his basket.

 

Honestly, I didn’t know why I was apologizing. Was it for crying? For wasting his time? For being so pathetic that I needed someone to take care of me?

 

Instead of waiting for an answer, he lifted himself onto the bed and wrapped me in a hug. Naturally, I cried harder. I’ve been deprived of any form of comforting human contact for seven years.

 

For seven years, the only time someone touched me was when they punished me. I grew to fear physical connection, but something deep inside my soul still longed for the gentle touch of a friend. And now, after all this time, here it was.

 

I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, all too aware of how unhygienic the gesture was. “I’m sorry you had to come take care of me. It was my fault for getting injured in the first place.”

 

I half expected him to leave without saying anything after realizing how I wasted his morning. Instead he let out a deep sigh. “I was born in Spira, the lone son of a fisherman. When war broke out with Midgar, I wanted to fight. I was only eleven at the time, so my parents made me stay home. It didn’t end up making a difference, though. Soldiers invaded our village and took us prisoner anyway.”

 

He ran a hand through his hair before meeting my eyes. “I watched my friends get sold off to all sorts of disgusting people who likely used them as sex slaves. That very easily could have been me,” he grabbed my hand before continuing. “I could have been in the exact same position you are now except that’s not what fate had in the cards.”

 

He hesitated for a second, staring at his lap before lifting his chin to look me in the eye. “That’s why I’ve decided I’m going to help you out in any way I can. You ever need anything, you just let me know.”

 

I couldn’t help the smile that lit up my features. The sudden realization that I wasn’t alone in this struggle was somehow even more comforting than the hug itself. I beamed because for I really and truly had my first friend.

 

Without warning, the door to my hovel shot open, pounding against the opposite wall and creaking on its hinges. The figure that dominated the doorway was one I hoped not to see again for a very long time: definitely not after last night, that is.

 

His dreads swung menacingly as he fixed his gaze on my new friend. “Run along now, physician’s brat.”

 

Hayner obeyed the command without delay, abandoning me to the will of this vile man. The blonde shot me an encouraging smile from the other side of the hulking male.

 

I barely registered what was happening when a meaty hand shot forward and grasped my jaw. Xigbar turned my head from one side to the other, appraising me. “I didn’t get it at first, but I’m starting to see why our king likes you so much.”

 

He snickered and patted my cheek. “The things I would do to you, boy.” A shiver went up my spine. One scary pedophile was enough to deal with.

 

“But for now,” he mused, “the king asked me to fetch you.”

 

Certainly not again. Not so soon. I couldn’t stop the panic from seeping into my voice when I demanded, “What for?”

 

The grin on Xigbar’s face spread. “For breakfast.”


	12. Chapter 12

** Going on Living Part 1 **

****

** Ch. 12 **

****

From the vague details I eked out of Xigbar, I was going to hate this so called “breakfast”. Dread (and pain) filled each step as we approached the dining hall. Though Hayner fixed me up, my injuries would need time to heal. Time, I suspected, I did not have.

 

Why couldn’t I just sleep in peace today?

 

Because King Amarant is a sadistic bastard, that’s why. He just had to humiliate me in front of the harem: ladies who already hated me. I only hoped the familiar face from last night might bring me comfort of some kind.

 

Her words from the night before floated through my mind: _Don’t you ever let him see you cry. He will never win: never take away your fire unless you let him. Don’t let him._

 

Too late for that. I’d already cried and blubbered and screamed my little heart out. The king and his wife had already snuffed out my fire. Doused it with unwanted sex, torture, branding, and piercings. Was there truly anything left of me?

 

There had to be. There _needed_ to be.

 

My mother wanted me to live. She died in my place not so that I could cry and sulk, but so that I could find a way out of this. She wanted me to be better than the shitty cards life had dealt me. She would tell me I was strong: that I could overcome this so long as I did not let it break me.

 

I owed it to my mother to at least try.

 

And that meant I couldn’t roll over and let myself get kicked while I’m down; no, I needed to jump back up and continue to fight. And I would need to keep jumping back up every time he knocked me down until I finally won.

 

Despite the searing pain emanating from my back, hip, and tongue, I smiled.

 

The only way to piss them all off would be with a smile. The king and his harem would hate me for standing strong, for not giving in, not allowing myself to get broken down by their taunts and slander: their humiliation.

 

I braced myself, steeling my nerves, before opening the doors to an unknown fate.

 

* * *

 

 

Rikku knew this could only end poorly. When she first heard the idea, she was appalled. The boy had suffered enough by her calculation, why put him through more torture? Given the display in the throne room, she formed a fairly detailed image in her mind of what the boy’s evening had been like.

 

 _Man_ , she corrected herself once again.

 

Rikku snuck a glance at Yun Fang from her seat further down the table. Fang held the title of most cruel toward the young man. It was common knowledge that she hated him, was jealous of him, and possibly even feared what his existence could mean for her.

 

Fang did not want to relinquish any of her power. Seated at the king’s right hand, she reveled in the gifts and privileges he vomited out on her. She _needed_ that influence for some reason Rikku would never understand.

 

Rikku was happy enough not having to be a nun.

 

Usually when the King requested breakfast with his harem, it was a jovial affair. They talked, and delighted in fine foods and even finer spirits. Something Rikku could get used to.

 

This particular morning found the atmosphere thick with tension: bodies filled with anticipation, whether in excitement or anger Rikku could not care less. She was mostly apathetic, though she felt some sort of kinship with the diminutive male after their exchange the night before.

 

She only hoped this affair would not turn out as poorly as she feared.

 

The dining hall doors opened to reveal the young man. Quite honestly, he looked like shit. His left arm crossed his body to clutch his side. A small patch of blood blossomed on his back. Rikku suspected the injuries were a lot worse than he was letting on. The slight limp the blonde tried to hide told more of the story than Rikku knew would ever be confirmed.

 

His eyes, though, held the same fire she’d seen last night when he entered the throne room. She prayed for the boy’s sake that he would be able to hold onto that determination inside himself. Otherwise, he would not last long in this place.

 

Rikku’s eyes swept the room, taking in the spiteful jealousy written on the faces of her fellow harem women. She thought ladies of noble birth would have better composure than to allow such twisted grimaces to grace their features. Rikku, for her part, thought their expressions better mirrored their disgusting personalities this way.

 

If the boy noticed the looks thrown his way, he pretended differently. He tried to appear as unaffected as possible, padding along in his barefooted procession.

 

He stopped several feet from the end of the table, glaring defiantly down its length at King Amarant. The victorious glimmer in the king’s eyes terrified Rikku a bit. She was eternally glad such a look had never been directed at her.

 

Amarant stood from his chair at the head of the table to address his guests. “Good morning, my harem,” he gestured to the opulent women divulging in gluttonous amounts of local fare. “And of course, a special welcome to my newest bitch,” he spat the last word at the uncertainly upright form across the room from him.

 

The boy looked about ready to strangle the king, and the harem ladies looked ready to strangle the boy. Rikku wondered what this game was. What was the king playing at? Why gather so much animosity in one room?

 

King Amarant looked to Yun Fang, “What do you think of my new toy, dearest?”

 

The dark-haired woman scoffed. “This… _boy_? One of us? That’s a laugh,” she stood from her spot at the king’s right hand, and sauntered to the boy. She circled him, spewing her insults. “This scrawny, ugly, immature gnat should not have the honor of gracing your bed, my lord. He belongs with the pigs: wallowing in the mud with the beasts. He’s not even fit to lick your boot.”

 

To punctuate her abuse, she pushed the blonde forward. He stumbled, barely catching himself on the edge of the tabletop in a crouch. Blood trickled down his arm from beneath his shirt.

 

 _What was the point of this?_ Rikku wondered. _He’s been through enough_.

 

* * *

 

 

I felt one of the wounds on my back reopen when the black-haired bitch pushed me. Luckily, the table was within my reach, and I kept myself from falling all the way to the floor. I suppose humiliating me in private was not enough for our bastard of a king, he needed to do so in public as well.

 

The brand on my hip burned. Part of me wanted to run and hide in my poor excuse for a room, but the more stubborn side of me instructed me to stand tall against their abuse: not to give in to them.

 

I straightened, a wary eye on the harem woman still prowling behind me. I decided I didn’t like her. I tapped the barbell now attached to my tongue against my teeth with a small _click_ to keep myself from speaking the words I wanted to.

 

I wondered what the king called me here for. Surely not just for the harem to take jabs at me, they do that anyway. So what then?

 

King Amarant addressed the woman lurking in my shadow, “I quite agree, Fang. He is quite like a beast, hmm?” He scanned the length of the table, picking another lady to speak to, “Tell me, Aranea, what do you think of this boy?”

 

Unlike the fury in Fang’s eyes, Aranea appeared more apathetic than anything else. She took me in, blinking once, twice, before, “I don’t get it, my King. Why keep this boy?”

 

I got the feeling that if anyone else dared such an inquiry, they might find themselves stretched on the rack, but as it were, this seemed to be the answer the king expected. He gave a hearty, out-of-place laugh.

 

“Why? Good question,” his laughter turned to sudden rage and hunger directed toward me. “Tell me, boy, why _should_ I keep you?”

 

I get it. It clicked in my mind all at once. This was a test. He was testing me to see if I would follow orders: if I would remain “loyal” outside of the bedroom as well as within. I willed myself not to look away in shame. I knew what he wanted me to say, even if the answer would incur the wrath of all the women in this room. Even if the answer would destroy most of my remaining pride.

 

“Because I –“ the words caught in my throat. I couldn’t say this. I couldn’t say what he expected to hear. I tried once more, “You should keep me because I… um… I…”

 

 _Thwack_ , the king’s hand hit the table. It seems his impatience got the better of him. “Actions ring truer than words, don’t you think?” He snapped him fingers, then pointed to the floor before him. Of course he summons me as one would a dog.

 

I walked past the harem with caution. I knew they harbored stores of animosity toward me. These women despised me for stealing their king. I mentally scoffed; like I wanted to be at this monster’s side: in this monster’s _bed_. They could have him.

 

The lust in the redheaded man’s eyes when I stopped before him made me want to gag. A cruel hand settled on my jaw and dug in, forcing my mouth open. I knew what he was looking for. He wanted to try out my newest addition for himself.

 

The grin that stretched across his features upon confirming the small metal piece’s existence sent a pulse of rage through me. He set a hand on my shoulder, and none so gently pushed. I sunk to my knees all the while cursing his wretched existence, and my own.

 

This wasn’t fair. How was any of this fair? Did I somehow manage to piss off some god or other in my eight years or so before being relegated to this fate? I’d heard tales of prisoners enduring kinder treatment.

 

On the floor before the king, I knew what was to come. One for theatrics, though, he still felt the need to announce, “It’s only fair _we all_ get to eat our breakfast, after all.” This garnered a few chuckles from his audience.

 

I took my place underneath the table, and slowly lowered the king’s trousers.

 

I wouldn’t let him win. I couldn’t let him see me cry. I needed to live to spite this fucker and his gaggle of bitches; more importantly I needed to live so that my mother’s sacrifice would mean something. I needed to make certain the rest of my life did not continue in this fashion. I would make something of myself, and then I would take my revenge. They would all rue the day they chose to humiliate me.

 

Steeling my nerves, I got to work.

 

* * *

 

 

Years later I would think on this event as a crucible. Much as I’d tried to convince myself before then to stay strong and survive, I hadn’t yet believed I could do it. On my knees in that dining hall, I grinned and bore my mistreatment for the first time. I didn’t cry; I didn’t even make an angry face.

 

I harbored hate within the walls of my heart, but revealed nothing on the exterior. I adopted a mask of apathy, determined to never again let the king see he could get to me. This would be the beginning of long years of torment and pain that I only endured because of my mental fortitude.

 

If not for this moment of decision, I fear I may not have survived at all. As it stands, I barely made it through. I wished for years that my story were a happier, nicer one, but ‘twas not the case.

 

Welcome to my hell; to the story of how I survived. This is the saga of how I learned to keep going on living.

 

**End of Part 1**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! Except I'm not actually sorry. This is how I planned to write this story and I am sticking by it. I have no guarantee as to when Part 2 will start being uploaded. I've hardly written anything and I refuse to upload any of it until Part 2 is completed and ready to be edited.
> 
> I hope you all at least are enjoying the story so far. Part 2 is about to get lit. That's when we introduce the lovely Axel to stir up some trouble! You guys are gonna love it. I promise. As soon as I write it, that is.
> 
> As Always,
> 
> Ali

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading; reviews are welcome. Updates every Saturday.
> 
> As Always,
> 
> Ali


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